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Plays, 

Iron  Chest, 

Richelieu, 

Hunchback 

Wife, 

Evadne, 

Stranger. 

Gisippus 

Ingomar, 


FRENCH'S 


STANDARD 

No.  LXVIl. 


DRAMA. 


THE   IRON  CHEST. 


IN    THREE  ACTS. 


BY  GEORGE   COLMAN  THE  YOUNGER, 


WITH  THE  STAGE  BUSINESS,  CAST  OF  CHARACTERS,  COS 
TUMES,  RELATIVE  POSITIONS,  &c. 


NEW- YORK : 

SAMUEL  FRENCH 

123  NASSAU-STREET. 

HUCE,  12*  CENTS. 


v?<M 


CAST    OF  CHARACTERS. 

Covent  Garden,  1796.   Drury  Lane,  1816.        Park,  1845. 
Sir  Elitfd  Mortimer  Mr.  Kemble.  Mr.  Kean.  Mr.  C  Kean. 


Fiizhardivg   "   Wroughton,        "   Powell.  M  Vache. 

Wilford   "    Bannister,  jun.     "    Wallack.  Mrs.  C.  Kean. 

Adam  Winterton   "    Dodd.  "    Munden.  Mr.  Fisher. 

Gilbert  Rawbold          "   Barrymore.         "    Holland.  "    De  Walden. 

Samson  Rawbold         "    Suet.  "   Harley.  "    G.  Andrews, 

Boy  Master  Welsh.  Master  Tibutt. 

Peter  Mr.  Banks.  Mr.  Evans. 

Walter   "    Mad  docks. 

Simon   "    Webb.  "  Heath. 

Gregory   "    Trueman.  "    Winton.  "  M'Douall. 

Armstrong   "   Kelly.  "    T.Cooke.  "    S.  Pearson. 

Orson   "    Palmer.  u    Palmer.  "  Barry. 

First  Robber   "    Dignum.  "    Cooke.  "  Gallot, 

Second  Robber   u    Sedgwick.  u   J.  Smith.  M  King. 

Third  Robber   Bannister.  a    Miller.  "  Gourlay. 

Fourth  Robber   "  Smith. 

Robbers  Boy   Master  Webb.  Master  Phillips.  Master  King. 

Helen  Miss  Farren.  Mrs.  Horn.  Mrs.  Abbott. 

Blanch   Mrs.  Gibbs.  "    Orger.  •*  Dyott. 

Dame  Rawbold   Miss  Tidswell.  "  Maddocks, 

Barbara  Rawbold....  Signora  Storace.        "    T.Cooke.  w  Wilkins. 

Margaret   "  Horribow. 

Judith   Miss  De  Camp.  "   Harlowe.  Miss  F.  Gordod 


Scene.— The  New  Forest  in  Hampshire,  and  on  its  Borders. 


EXITS  AND  ENTRANCES. 

R.  means  Right;  L.  Left;  R.  D.  Right  Door;  L.  D.  Left  Door  i 
S.  E.  Second  Entrance;  U.  E.  Upper  Entrance;  M.  D.  Middle  Door, 

RELATIVE  POSITIONS. 

R.,  means  Right;  L.,  Left;  C,  Centre;  R.  C,  Right  of  Centre  f 
h.  C,  Left  of  Centre. 


F.B.  Passages  marked  with  Inverted  Commas,  are  usually  tmitted  in  the 

representation. 


t  5  ] 


COSTUMES. 

61R  EDWARD  MORTIMER.— Black  velvet  slashed  jacket,  trimmed  with  silver 
buttons  and  silver  lace,  white  6atin  vest,  buff  tights,  handsomely  trimmed,  crim- 
son scarf,  russet  boots,  point  lace  collar,  and  ruffles. 

FITZHA.RDING. — Crimson  velvet  doublet,  trunk,  and  cloak,  slashed  with  white 
satin,  ;iinl  trimmed  with  silver  bell  buttons,  velvet  hat,  and  white  ostrich  feathers, 
point  lace  collar,  grey  hairs — red  hose,  russet  shoes,  and  rosettes,  belt,  sword,  and 
walking  cane. 

WILFORD. — Buff  tunic  and  pantaloons,  russet  boots,  black  cap  and  feathers, 

broad  black  belt,  and  brass  buckle,  plain  collar. 
ADAM  WINTE RTON.-^-Black  cloth  doublet,  trunks,  and  cloak,  trimmed  with 

black  ribbon,  black  cap,  point  lace  collar,  long  grey  hairs,  black  cloth  shoes,  white 

worsted  hose. 

RAWBOLD. — Leather  doublet,  brown  cloak  and  trunks,  grey  hose,  large  russet 

boots,  broad  belt  and  buckle,  brown  flap  hat,  and  collar. 
SAMSON. — First  dress :  Brown  doublet  and  trunks,  red  hose,  russet  shoes,  red  wig. 

Second  dress :  Yellow  doublet,  trunks,  and  cloak,  hat  to  match,  trimmed  with  red 

and  blue  binding — collar. 
BOY. — Brown  tunic  and  trunks,  belt,  grey  hose,  hat  to  match. 

PETER,  WALTER,  SIMON,  and  GREGORY.— Red  doublets,  trunks,  and  hose, 
russet  shoes — collars. 

ARMSTRONG. — Light  brown  tunic  and  trunks,  trimmed  with  red  and  Mack,  flesh- 
ings, hat  to  match,  with  black  feathers,  breastplate,  pistols,  carbine,  sword,  chain, 
and  collar,  russet  boots. 

ORSON.— Dark  brown  ditto,  without  pistols  or  carbine. 

FIRST  ROBBER.— Dark  grey  ditto,  trimmed  with  black,  &c. 

SECOND,  THIRD,  and  FOURTH  ROBBERS.— Stone  colour— dark  blue— dark 
green,  ditto. 

ROBBER'S  BOY.— Brown  tunic,  &c. 

HELEN.— White  satin,  trimmed  with  point  lace  and  silver,  white  silk  stockings, 
white  satin  shoes,  hat,  and  ostrich  feathers. 

BLANCH.— Black  velvet  body,  pink  petticoat,  pointed  black  hat,  the  whole  trim- 
med with  point  lace,  and  black  and  blue  ribbon,  point  lace  apron. 

DAME  RAWBOLD.— Flowered  gown,  white  night  cap,  white  kerchief,  check  apros. 

BARBARA.— Light  blue  stuff  petticoat,  with  black  binding,  black  body,  white 
kerchief  and  apron,  red  hose,  black  shoes. 

MARGARET.— Flowered  chintz  gown,  red  petticoat,  check  apron,  ecloured  ker- 
chief, black  shoes. 

JUDITH.— Bottle-green  petticoat  ind  jacket  trimmed  with  red  binding,  long  htir, 

red  hose,  black  shoes. 
CHILDREN— Brown  tunics,  to. 


THE   IRON  CHEST. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — The  Inside  of  UawbolaVs  Cottage — a  narrow 
staircase  in  the  back,  l. — a  door,  r.  p.— -a  table,  r.  c, 

07i  which  a  taper  is  burning — the  whole  scene  exhibits 
poverty  and  wretchedness. 

Several  Children,  squalid  and  beggarly,  discovered  in  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  Room,  some  asleep,  l. — Dame  Raw- 
bold  seated,  leaning  over  the  embers  of  the  fire — Barba- 
ra seated  near  her — Samson  standing  in  the  front,  r.  c 

GLEE. 

Five  times,  by  the  taper's  light, 
The  hour-glass  I  have  turned  to-night. 

Where's  father  ? 
He's  gone  out  to  roam : 
If  he  have  luck, 
He'll  bring  a  buck 
Upon  his  lusty  shoulders  home. 

Different  Voices, 

Home !  home ! 
He  comes  not  home ! 
Hark  !  from  the  woodland  vale  below, 
The  distant  clock  sounds  dull  and  slow, 
Borne  !  borne  !  borne  ! 

Sam.  (r.)  Five  o'clock,  and  father  not  yet  returned 
from  New  Forest !  An  he  come  not  shortly,  the  sun  will 
rise,  and  roast  the  venison  on  his  shoulders.  [Calling.] 
Sister  Barbara  !  Well,  your  rich  men  have  no  bowels  for 
us  lowly :  they  little  think,  while  they  are  gorging  on  the 
fat  haunch  of  a  goodly  buck,  what  fatigues  we  poor  ho- 
nest souls  undergo  in  stealing  it !    Why,  sister  Barbara  \ 


Sam. 

Boy. 
Sam. 


8 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


2Act  L 


Bar.  [Rising  and  coining  forward,  l.  c]  I  £m  here, 
brother  Samson. 

Sam.  Here ! — Marry,  out  upon  you  for  an  idle  bag- 
gage ! — Why,  you  crawl  like  a  snail. 

Bar.  I  pr'ythee,  now,  do  not  chide  me,  Samson  ! 

Sa??i.  'Tis  my  humour.  I  am  father's  head  man  in  his 
poaching  :  the  rubs  I  take  from  him,  who  is  above  me,  I 
hand  down  to  you,  who  are  below  me.  'Tis  the  way  of 
office,  where  every  miserable  devil  domineers  it  over  the 
next  more  miserable  devil  that's  under  him.  You  may 
scold  sister  Margery,  an  you  will ;  she's  your  younger  by 
a  twelvemonth. 

Bar.  Truly,  brother,  [  would  not  make  any  one  unhap- 
py for  the  world  :  I  am  content  to  do  what  I  can  to  please, 
and  to  mind  the  house. 

Sam.  Truly,  a  weighty  matter  !  Thou  art  e'en  ready 
to  hang  thyself  for  want  of  something  to  wiie  away  time. 
What  hast  thou  much  more  to  do  than  to  trim  the  faggots, 
nurse  thy  mother,  boil  the  pot,  patch  our  jackets,  kill  the 
poultry,  cure  the  hogs,  feed  the  pigs,  and  comb  the  chil- 
dren % 

Bar.  Many  might  think  that  no  small  charge,  Samson. 

Sam.  A  mere  nothing ;  while  father  and  I  (bate  us  but 
the  mother  and  children,)  have  the  credit  of  purloining 
every  single  thing  that  you  have  the  care  of.  We  are  up 
early,  and  down  late,  in  the  exercise  of  our  industry. 

Bar.  I  wish  father  and  you  would  give  up  the  calling. 

Sa?n.  No  :  there  is  one  keen  argument  to  prevent  us. 

Bar.  What's  that,  brother  ] 

Sam.  Hunger.  Wouldst  have  us  be  rogues,  and  let 
our  family  starve  1  Give  up  poaching  and  deer-stealing ! 
Oons  !  dost  think  we  have  no  conscience  1  Yonder  sits 
mother,  poor  soul !  old,  helpless,  and  crazy. 

Bar.  Alas  !  brother,  'tis  heart-aching  to  look  upon  her. 
This  very  time  three  years  she  got  her  maim  :  it  was  a 
piteous  tempest ! 

Sam.  Ay,  'twas  rough  weather. 

Bar.  I  never  pass  the  old  oak  that  was  shivered  that 
night  in  the  storm,  but  I  am  ready  to  weep  :  it  remembers 
me  of  the  time  when  all  our  poor  family  went  to  ruin. 

Sam.  Pish!  no  matter:  the  cottage  was  blown  down, 
the  barn  fired,  father  undone.  Well,  landlords  are  flinty 
hearted — no  help  ;  what  then  ? — We  live,  don't  we  ] 


Scene  I.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


9 


Bar.  Troth,  brother,  very  sadly.  Father  has  grown 
desperate — all  is  fallen  to  decay  ;  we  live  by  pilfering  on 
the  forest,  and  our  poor  mother  distracted,  and  unable  to 
look  to  the  house.  The  rafter  which  fell  in  the  storm 
struck  so  heavy  upon  her  brain,  I  fear  me  'twill  never 
again  be  settled.  The  little  ones,  too,  scarce  clothed — 
hungry — almost  starving  !  Indeed,  we  are  a  very  wretch- 
ed family.  [A  knock  at  the  cottage-doort  it.  p. 

Sam,  Hark  !  methought  I  heard  a  tread. 

[He  opens  the  door,  r.  e. 

Enter  Rawbold,  l. 

Raw.  (c.)  Bar  the  door ;  so — softly  ! 

Sam.  (r.  c.)  What  success,  father? 

Raw.  Good  :  my  limbs  ache  for't.  How  you  stand  !— 
The  chair,  you  gander  ! 

Sam.  [  To  Barbara.]  Why,  how  you  stand  ! — The  chair, 
you  gander. 

[They  bring  forward  a  chair — Rawbold  sits,  c. 

Raw.  Here,  take  my  gun — 'tis  unscrewed.  The  keep- 
ers are  abroad  ;  I  had  scarce  time  to  get  it  in  my  pocket. 
[He  pulls  the  gun  from  a  pocket  under  his  coat,  in  three  pie- 
ces, which  Samson  screws  together  while  they  are  talking.] 
Fie  !  'tis  sharp  work  !    Barbara,  you  jade  !  come  hither. 

Sam.  Barbara,  you  jade!  come  hither. 

Raw.  Who  bid  thee  chide  her,  lout  1  Kiss  thy  old  fa- 
ther, wench — kiss  me,  I  say! — So. — Why  dost  tremble  % 
I  am  rough  as  a  tempest ;  evil  fortune  has  blown  my  low- 
ering nature  into  turbulence  ;  but  thou  art  a  blossom  that 
dost  bend  thy  head  so  sweetly  under  my  gusts  of  passion, 
'tis  pity  they  should  ever  harm  thee. 

Bar.  (l.)  Indeed,  father,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  safe  re- 
turned. 

Raw.  I  believe  thee.  Take  the  keys  ;  go  to  the  locker 
in  the  loft,  and  bring  me  a  glass  to  recruit  me. 

[Exit  Barbara,  l.  u.  e. 

Sam.  Well,  father,  and  so — 
Raw.  Peace  ! — I  ha'  shot  a  buck. 

Sam.  Oh,  rare !  Of  all  the  sure  aims  on  the  borders 
of  the  New  Forest  here,  give  me  old  Gilbert  Rawbold ; 
though  I,  who  am  his  son,  say  it,  that  should  net  say  it 
Where  have  you  stowed  him,  father  % 


10 


THE   IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  1. 


Raiv.  Under  the  furze,  behind  the  hovel.  Corre  night 
again,  we  will  draw  him  in,  boy.    I  have  been- watched. 

Sa?)i.  Watched  ! — Oh,  the  pestilence  ! — Our  trade  will 
be  spoiled  if  the  groom-keepers  be  after  us ;  the  law  will 
persecute  us,  father. 

Raw.  Dost  know  Mortimer  ] 

Sa?n.  What,  Sir  Edward  Mortimer?  Ay,  sure;  he  is 
head-keeper  of  the  forest.  'Tis  he  who  has  shut  himself 
up  in  melancholy ;  sees  no  rich,  and  does  so  much  good 
to  the  poor. 

Raw.  He  has  done  me  naught  but  evil.  A  gun  cannot 
be  carried  on  the  border  here,  but  he  has  scent  on't  at  a 
league's  distance.  He  is  a  thorn  to  me  :  his  scouts  this 
night  were  after  me,  all  on  the  watch.  I'll  be  revenged — 
I'll— So,  the  brandy. 

Re-enter  Barbara,  with  the  liquor,  l.  u.  e. 

Raw.  [After  drinking.]  'Tis  right,  i'faith  ! 

Sam.  (r.)  That  'tis,  I'll  be  sworn  ;  for  I  smuggled  it 
myself.    We  do  not  live  so  near  the  coast  for  nothing. 

Raw.  Sir  Edward  Mortimer,  look  to  it! 

Bar.  (l.)  Sir  Edward  Mortimer!  Oh,  dear  father, 
what  of  him  % 

Raw.  Ay,  now  thou  art  all  agog !  Thou  wouldst  hear 
somewhat  of  that  smooth-tongued  fellow,  his  secretary — 
his  clerk,  Wiiford,  whom  thou  so  often  meet'st  in  the  fo- 
rest. I  have  news  on't.  Look  how  you  walk  thithei 
again  !  What,  thou  wouldst  betray  me  to  him,  I  warrant 
— conspire  against  your  father  ! 

Sam.  Ay,  conspire  against  your  father,  and  your  tender 
loving  brother,  you  viper,  you  ! 

Bar.  Beshrew  me,  father,  I  meant  no  harm ;  and,  in- 
deed, indeed,  Wiiford  is  as  handsome  a — I  mean,  as  good 
a  youth  as  ever  breathed.  If  I  thought  he  meant  ill  by 
you,  I  should  hate  him. 

Raro.  When  didst  see  him  last? — Speak  ! 

Bar.  You  terrify  me  so,  father,  I  am  scarce  able  to 
speak.  Yesternoon,  by  the  copse  :  'twas  but  to  read  witl> 
him  the  book  of  sonnets  he  gave  me. 

Sam.  That's  the  way  your  sly,  grave  rogues,  work  into 
the  hearts  of  the  females.  I  never  knew  any  good  come 
of  a  girl's  reading  sonnets  with  a  learned  clerk  in  a  copse 


Scene  I.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


11 


Raw.  Let 'me  hear  no  more  of  your  n.eeting.    I  am 
content  to  think  you  would  not  plot  my  undoing. 
Bar.  I  1— Oh,  father  ! 

Reno.  But  he  may  plot  yours.  Mark  me :  fortune  has 
thrust  me  forth  to  prowl,  like  the  wolf ;  but  the  wolf  is 
anxious  for  its  young.  I  am  an  outcast,  whom  hunger  has 
hardened  ;  I  violate  the  law,  but  feeling  is  not  dead  with- 
in me ;  and  callous  villain  as  I  am  accounted,  I  would 
tear  that  greater  villain  piecemeal,  who  would  violate  my 
child,  and  rob  an  old  man  of  the  little  remains  of  comfort 
wretchedness  has  left  him  !   [A  knocking  at  the  door,  r.  f. 

A  voice.  [  Without. \  Hilliho  !  ho  ! 

Raiu.  How  now  ? 

Sam.  There,  an  they  be  not  after  us  already  !  I'll— 
We  have  talked,  too,  till  'tis  broad  daylight. 

Wilford.  [  Without,  r.  d.  p.]  Open,  good  Master  Raw- 
bold  ;  I  would  speak  to  you  suddenly. 

Bar.  Oh,  Heaven  !  'tis  the  voice  of  Wilford  himself! 

Raw.  Wilford  ! — I'm  glad  on't !  Now  he  shall — I'm 
glad  on't !  Open  the  door — quickly,  I  say  !  He  shall 
smart  for  it ! 

Sam.  Are  you  mad,  father  ]  'Tis  we  shall  smart  for  it. 
Let  in  the  keeper's  head  man  !  The  buck  you  have  just 
shot,  you  know,  is  hard  at  hand. 

Raw.  Open,  I  say  ! 

Sam.  Oh,  lord!  1  defy  any  secretary's  nose  not  to  smell 
stolen  venison  now,  the  moment  'tis  thrust  near  our  hovel ! 

[  Opens  the  door,  r.  p. 

Enter  Wilford,  r.  d.  p. 

Wil.  (r.  c.)  Save  you,  good  people.  You  are  Gilbert 
Rawbold,  as  I  take  it. 

Raw.  (c.)  I  am.  Your  message  here,  young  man,  bodes 
me  no  good ;  but  I  am  Gilbert  Rawbold,  and  here's  my 
daughter  :  dost  know  her  1 

Wil.  Ah,  Barbara!  good  wench,  how  fares  it  with  you  1 

Raw.  Look  on  her  well,  then  consult  your  own  con- 
science:  'tis  difficult,  haply,  for  a  secretary  to  find  one» 
You  are  a  villain  ! 

Wil.  You  lie  !  Hold  !  I  crave  pardon.  You  are  hei 
father;  she  is  innocent,  and  you  are  unhappy,  ^respect 
virtue  and  misfortune  too  much  to  shock  the  one,  or  insult 
the  other. 


is 


THE  III  ON  CHEST. 


[A«.r  I. 


Raw.  'Sdeath  !  why  meet  my  daughter  in  the  forest  1 

WM.  Because  I  love  her. 
Haw.  And  would  ruin  her. 

Wil.  That's  a  strange  way  of  showing  one's  love,  me- 
thinks.  I  have  a  simple  notion,  Gilbert,  that  the  thought 
of  having  taken  a  base  advantage  of  a  poor  girl's  affec- 
tion might  go  nigh  to  break  a  man's  sleep,  and  give  him 
unquiet  dreams;  now,  I  love  my  night's  rest,  and  shall  do 
nothing  to  disturb  it. 

Raw,  Wouldst  not  poison  her  mind  ? 

Wil.  'Tis  not  my  method,  friend,  of  dosing  a  patient. 
Look  ye,  Gilbert ;  her  mind  is  a  fair  flower,  stuck  in  the 
rude  soil  here  of  surrounding  ignorance,  and  smiling  in 
the  chill  of  poverty.  I  would  fain  cheer  it  with  the  little 
sunshine  I  possess  of  comfort  and  information.  My  pa- 
rents were  poor,  like  her's  :  should  occasion  serve,  I  might 
haply,  were  all  parties  agreed,  make  her  my  wife.  To 
make  her  aught  else  would  affect  her,  you,  and  myself : 
and  I  have  no  talent  at  making  three  people  uneasy  at  the 
same  time. 

Raw.  Your  hand  :  on  your  own  account,  we  are  friends. 
Bar.  (l.  c.)  Oh,  dear  father  ! 

Raw.  Be  silent.  Now  to  your  errand  :  'tis  from  Mor- 
timer. 

Wil.  I  come  from  Sir  Edward. 

Raw.  I  know  his  malice :  he  would  oppress  me  with 
his  power — he  would  starve  me  and  my  family.  Search 
my  ho-use. 

Sam.  (l.)  No,  father,  no  ! — [^4s^e.]  You  forget  tho 
buck  under  the  furze. 

Raw.  Let  him  do  his  worst,  but  let  him  beware — a  ty- 
rant !  a  villain  !  [Samson  gets  round  to  r.  corner. 

Wil.  Hark  ye  :  he  is  my  master  ;  I  owe  him  my  gra- 
titude— everything;  and  had  you  been  any  but  the  fa- 
ther of  my  Barbara,  and  spoken  so  much  against  him, 
indignation  had  worked  into  my  knuckles,  and  crammed 
the  words  down  your  rusty  throat  ! 

Sam.  [Aside. — n.  c.J  I  do  begin  to  perceive  how  this 
will  end  :  father  will  knock  down  the  secretary  as  flat  a/3 
a  buck  ! 

Raw.  Why  am  I  singled  out?  Is  there  no  mark  for 
the  vengeance  of  office  to  shoot  its  shaft  at  but  me  1 — 
This  morning,  as  he  dogged  me  in  the  forest — 


Scene  I.]  THE  IRON  CHEST.  13 

WiL  Hush,  Rawbold  !   keep  your  counsel.  Should 
you  make  it  public,  he  must  notice  it. 
Raw.  Did  lie  not  notice  it  ? 

Wil.  No  matter;  but  he  has  sent  me  thus  early,  Gil- 
bert, with  this  relief  to  your  distresses,  which  he  has 
heard  of.    Here  are  twenty  marks  for  you  and  your  fami- 

Raw.  From  Sir  Edward  Mortimer  1 
Wit.  'Tis  his  way;  but  he  would  not  have  it  mention- 
ed. He  is  one  of  those  judges  who,  in  their  office,  will 
never  warp  the  law  to  save  olTenders;  but  his  private 
charity  bids  him  assist  the  needy,  before  their  necessities 
drive  them  to  crimes,  which  his  public  duty  must  punish. 

Rmtk  Did  Mortimer  do  this  1  did  he  1 — Heaven  bless 
him  !  Oh,  young  man,  if  you  knew  half  the  misery — my 
wife — my  children  !  Shame  on't  !  T  have  stood  many  a 
tug,  but  the  drops  now  fall,  in  spite  of  me  !  I  am  not  un- 
grateful, but — I  cannot  stand  it !  We  will  talk  of  Bar- 
bara when  I  have  more  man  about  me. 

[Exit  up  the  staircase,  L. 

Wil.  Farewell!  T  must  home  to  the  lodge  quickly  j 
Ere  this,  I  warrant,  I  am  looked  for. 

Bar.  Farewell ! 

QUINTETTO. 

Wil.   The  sun  has  tipped  the  hills  with  red, 

The  lout  now  flourishes  his  flail ; 
The  punchy  parson  waddles  from  his  bed, 
Heavy  and  heated  with  his  last  night's  ale. 
Adieu  !  adieu  ! — I  must  be  going, 
The  dapper  village  cock  is  crowing. 

Adieu,  my  little  Barbara ! 

Bar.    Adieu  ! — And  should  you  think  upon 
The  lowly  cot! age,  when  you're  gone, 
Where  two  old  oaks,  with  ivy  decked, 
Their  branches  o'etr  the  roof  project, 
I  pray,  good  sir,  jist  recollect 
That  there  lives  little  Barbara. 

Sam.  And  Samson,  too,  good  sir,  in  smoke  and  smother  g 
Barbara's  very  tender,  loving  brother. 

Boy.  {To  Samson.']  Brother,  look  ;  the  sun  aloof 
Peeps  through  the  crannies  of  the  roof. 
Give  us  food,  good  brother,  pray; 
For  we  ate  nothing  yesterday. 

B 


14 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


f  Act 


Children.  Give  us  food,  good  brother,  pray  ! 
Sam.  Oh,  fire  and  faggot!  what  a  squalling! 
Bar.    Do  not  chide  'em. 

Sam.  Stop  their  bawling  ! 

Hungry  stomachs  there's  no  balking : 
I  wish  I  could  stop  their  mouths  with  talking. 
But  very  good  meat  is  (cent  per  cent) 
Dearer  than  very  good  argument. 

Wil.  Adieu  !  adieu  ! — I  must  be  going  ; 

The  dapper  village  cock  is  crowing. 
Adieu,  my  little  Barbara  !  > 
Bar.       Oh,  think  on  little  Barbara  !  $ 
Children.  Give  us  food  ! 

Sam.  Leave  off  squalling  ! 

Wil.  $  Bar.  Adieu  !  adieu ! 
Sam.  Stop  their  bawling? 

Sam.       )  Adieu !  my  little  Barbara! 
Wil.  $    >  Oh,  think  on  little  Barbara! 
Bar.        )  You'll  think  on  little  Barbara ! 

[Exeunt  Wilford,  r.  d.  f.,  Samson  and  two  Children, 
l.,  and  the  scene  closes  on  Dame  Rawbold  and  two 
other  Children. 


Scewe  II. — An  old-fashioned  Hall  in  Sir  Edward  Morti- 
mer's Lodge — a  table  and  two  chairs. 

Enter  Peter,  and  several  other  Servants,  r.,  and  cross  with 
flagons,  tankards,  cold  meat,  fyc. 

Enter  Adam  Winterton,  r. 

Win.  Softly,  varlets,  softly !  See  you  crack  none  of 
tbe  stone  flagons.  Nay,  'tis  plain  your  own  breakfasts 
be  toward,  by  your  scuttling  thus.  A  goodly  morning' 
Why,  you  giddy-pated  knave!  [To  Peter,]  is  it  so  you 
carry  a  dish  of  pottery  ? — No  heed,  of  our  good  master, 
Sir  Edward  Mortimer's  ware  ?   Fie,  Peter  Pickbone,  fie  ! 

Peter.  I  am  in  haste,  master  steward,  to  break  my  fast. 

JVin.  To  break  thy  fast ! — To  break  thy  neck,  it  should 
seem.  [Laughing.]  Ha!  ha!  good,  i'faith  !  Go  thy  ways, 
knave  !  [Exit  Peter,  l.J  'Ti-s  thus  the  rogues  ever  have 
me  :  I  would  fain  be  angry  with  them,  but  straight  a  mer- 
ry jest  passeth  across  me,  and  my  choler  is  over.  To 
break  thy  neck,  it  should  seem!  [Laughing.]  Ha!  ha! 
'twas  well  conceited,  by  St.  Thomas  !  My  table-book  for 
the  business  of  the  clay.    Ah  !  my  memory  holds  not  as  it 


SCENK  II  .J 


THE   IKON  CHEST. 


IS 


did — it  needs  the  spur.  [Looking  over  his  book.\  Nine- 
and-forty  years  have  I  been  house-steward  and  butler.  It 
is  a  long  lease.    Let  me  see — my  tablets. 

[Looking  over  them  and  singing. 

"  When  birds  do  carol  on  the  bush, 
•With  a  heigh  no  nonny" — Heigho  ! 

These  fati'gues  of  office  somewhat  wear  a  man.  I  have 
had  a  long  lease  on't :  I  ha'  seen  out  Queen  Mary,  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and  King  James.  'Tis  e'en  almost  time  that  I 
should  retire,  to  begin  to  enjoy  myself,  [Looking  off,  l.] 
Eh  !  by  St.  Thomas !  hither  trips  the  fair  mistress  Blanch. 
Of  all  the  waiting-gentlewomen  I  ever  looked  on,  during 
the  two  last  reigns,  none  stirred  my  fancy  like  this  little 
rose-bud. 

Enter  Blanch,  l. 

Blanch.  A  good  day,  good  Adam  Winterton. 

Win.  What,  wag  !  what,  tulip  ! — I  never  see  thee,  but 
I  am  a  score  of  years  the  younger. 

Blanch.  Nay,  then,  let  us  not  meet  often,  or  you  will 
soon  be  in  your  second  childhood. 

Win.  What,  you  come  from  your  mistress,  the  Lady 
Helen,  in  the  forest  here;  and  would  speak  with  Sir  Ed- 
ward Mortimer,  I  warrant  1 

Blanch.  I  would.  Is  his  melancholy  worship  stirring 
yet  ? 

Win.  Fie,  you  mad-cap  ! — He  is  my  master,  and  your 
lady's  friend. 

Blanch.  Yes,  truly,  it  seems,  her  only  one,  poor  lady  : 
he  protects  her,  now  she  is  left  an  orphan. 

Win.  A  blessing  on  his  heart  !  I  would  it  were  mer- 
rier. Well,  should  they  happen  to  marry,  (and  I  have 
my  fancies  on't,)  I'll  dance  a  galliard  with  thee  in  the  hall, 
on  ,the  round  oak  table.  'Sbud  !  when  I  was  a  youth,  1 
would  ha'  capered  with  St.  Vitus,  and  beat  him. 

Blanch.  You  are  as  likely  to  dance  now,  as  they  to  mar- 
ry. What  has  hindered  them,  if  the  parties  be  agreed  1 
Yet  I  have,  now,  been  with  my  mistress  these  two  years, 
since  Sir  Edward  first  came  hither,  and  placed  her  in  the 
cottage  hard  by  his  lodge. 

Win.  Tush  !  family  reasons.  Thou  knowest  nothing — 
thou  art  scarce  cat<  lied.   Two  years  back,  when  we  came 


16 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  L 


from  Kent,  and  Sir  Edward  first  entered  on  his  office  here 
of  head-keeper,  thou  wert  a  colt,  running  wild  about  New 
Forest.    I  hired  you  myself,  to  attend  on  Madam  Helen. 

Blanch.  Nay,  I  shall  never  forget  it.  But  you  were  a? 
frolicsome  then  as  1,  methinks.  Dost  remember  the  box 
on  the  ear  I  gave  thee,  Adam  1 

Win.  Peace,  peace,  you  pie  ! — An'  you  prate  thus,  I'll 
stop  your  mouth — I  will,  by  St.  Thomas! 

Blanch.  An  I  be  inclined  to  the  contrary,  1  do  not  think 
you  are  able  to  stop  it. 

Win.  Tut,  you  baggage!  thou  hast  more  tricks  than  a 
kitten.  Well,  go  thy  ways;  [Blanch  crosses  to  R.J  Sir  Ed- 
ward is  at  his  study,  and  there  thou  wilt  find  him. —  Ah, 
Mistress  Blanch  !  had  you  but  seen  me  sixty  years  ago,  in 
the  early  part  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign  ! 

Blanch.  How  old  art  thou  now,  Adam  1 

Win.  Fourscore,  come  Martlemas;  and,  by  our  lady!  1 
can  run  with  a  lapwing. 

Blanch.  Canst  thou  ] — Well  said  ! — Thou  art  a  merry 
old  man,  and  shalt  have  a  kiss  of  me,  on  one  condition. 

Win.  Shall  I  % — Odsbud  !  name  it,  and  'tis  mine. 

Blanch.  Then  catch  me.  [Runs  off,  r. 

Win.  Pestilence  on't ! — There  was  a  time  when  my 
legs  had  served  :  I  was  a  clean-limbed  stripling,  when  [ 
first  stood  behind  Sir  Marmaduke's  arm-chair  in  the  old 
oak  eating-room.  [Retires  up,  l. 

Enter  Wilford,  r. 

Wil.  Every  new  act  of  Sir  Edward's  charity  sets  me  a 
thinking;  and  the  more  I  think,  the  more  1  am  puzzled. 
'Tis  strange  that  a  man  should  be  so  ill  at  ease,  who  is 
continually  doing  good  !  At  times,  the  wild  glare  of  his 
eye  is  frightful.  I  would  stake  my  life  there's  a  secret ; 
and  I  could  almost  give  my  life  to  unravel  it.  I  must  to 
nim  for  my  morning's  employment.  [Crosses  to  l 

Win.  Ah,  boy!  Wilford!  secretary!  whither  away, 
lad  \ 

Wil.  Mr.  Winterton  ! — [Aside.]  Ay,  marry,  this  good 
old  man  has  the  clue,  could  I  but  coax  Hm  to  give  it  to 
me. — [Aloud.]  A  good  morning  to  you,  sir. 

Win.  Yea,  and  the  like  to  thee,  boy  !  Come,  thou 
shalt  have  a  cup  of  Canary  from  my  corner  cupboard, 
yonder. 


SfiESJfi  1 1. J 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


17 


Wit.  Not  a  drop  ! 

Win.  Truth  1  bear  thee  a  good  will  for  thy  honest,  old, 
dead  father's  sake. 

Wil.  I  do  thankfully  perceive  it,  sir.  Your  placing 
me  in  Sir  Edward's  family  some  nine  months  ago,  when 
my  poor  father  died,  and  left  me  friendless,  will  never  out 
of  my  memory. 

Win.  Tut,  boy !  no  merit  of  mine  in  assisting  the 
friendless  ;  'tis  our  duty.  I  could  never  abide  to  see  ho- 
nest industry  chop-fallen  ;  I  love  to  have  folks  merry  about 
me,  to  my  heart. 

Wil.  I  would  you  could  instil  some  mirth  into  our  good 
master,  Sir  Edward.  You  are  an  old  domestic,  the  only 
one  he  brought  with  him,  two  years  back,  from  Kent  ; 
and  might  venture  to  give  his  spirits  a  jog.  He  seems  de- 
voured with  spleen  and  melancholy. 

Win.  You  are  a  prying  boy — go  to  !  1  have  told  thee, 
a  score  of  times,  I  would  not  have  thee  curious  about  our 
worthy  master's  humour. 

Wil.  I  should  cease  to  pray,  sir,  would  you  but  once 
(as  1  think  you  have  more  than  once  seemed  inclined,) 
gratify  my  much-raised  curiosity. 

Win.  What,  greenhorn  !  dost  think  to  trap  the  old 
man  ]  Go  thy  ways,  boy !  I  have  a  head  :  old  Adam 
Winterton  can  sift  a  subtle  speech  to  the  bottom. 

Wil.  Ah  !  good  sir,  you  need  not  tell  me  that.  Young 
as  I  am,  I  can  admire  that  experience  in  another,  which  1 
want  myself. 

Win.  [Aside.]  There  is  something  marvellously  enga- 
ging in  this  young  man.  Sixty  years  ago,  in  Queen  Eli- 
zabeth's time,  I  was  just  such  another. — [ Aloud. \  Well, 
beware  how  you  offend  Sir  Edward. 

Wil.  I  would  not,  willingly,  for  the  world.  He  has 
been  the  kindest  master  to  me  ;  but,  whilst  my  fortunes 
ripen  in  the  warmth  of  his  goodness,  the  frozen  gloom  of 
his  countenance  chills  me. 

Win.  Well,  well,  take  heed  how  you  prate  on't.  Out 
on  these  babbling  boys  !  There  is  no  keeping  a  secret 
with  younkers  in  a  family. 

Wil.  [Very  eagerly.]  What,  then,  there  is  a  secret? 

Win.  Why,  how  now,  hot-head'?  Mercy  on  me!  an' 
this  tinder-box  boy  do  not  make  me  shake  with  apprehen- 
sion !    Is  it  thus  you  take  my  frequent  counsel? 


TOE   IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  I 


Wil.  Dear  si?,  'tis  your  counsel  which  most  I  covet: 
give  me  but  that,  admit  me  to  your  confidence;  steer  me 
with  your  advice  (which  I  ever  held  excellent),  and,  with 
such  a  pilot,  I  may  sail  prosperously  through  a  current, 
which,  otherwise,  might  wreck  me. 

Win.  Well,  well,  I'll  think  on't,  boy. 

Wil.  \  Aside.  |  The  old  answer;  yet  he  softens  apace. 
Could  I  but  clench  him  now  ! — [Aloud.]  Faith,  sir,  'tis  a 
raw  morning,  and  I  care  not  if  I  taste  the  Canary  your 
kindness  offered. 

Win.  Aha  !  lad,  say'st  thou  so  1  Here's  the  key  of 
the  corner  cupboard  yonder;  see  you  do  not  crack  the 
bottle,  you  heedless  goose,  you  !  [Exit  YVilford,  l.,  and  re- 
turns with  bottle  and  glasses.]  Ha !  fill  it  up.  Od  !  it 
sparkles  curiously.  Here's  to — I  prithee,  tell  me,  now, 
Wilford,  didst  ever  in  thy  life  see  a  waiting-gentlewoman 
with  a  more  inviting  eye  than  the  little  Mrs.  Blanch  ] 

Wil.  [Drinking.]  Here's  Mrs.  Blanch  ! 

Win.  Ah,  wag  !  well,  go  thy  ways  !  Well,  when  I.  was 
of  thy  age — 'Tis  all  over,  now  !  But  here's  little  Mrs. 
Blanch  !  [Drinks. 

Wih  'Tis  thought  here,  Sir  Edward  means  to  marry 
b.er  lady,  Madam  Helen. 

Win.  Nay,  I  know  not :  she  has  long  been  enamoured 
of  him,  poor  lady  !  when  he  was  the  gay,  the  gallant  Sir 
Edward,  in  Kent.  Ah,  well !  two  years  make  a  wondrous 
change ! 

Wil.  Yes,  'tis  a  good  tough  love  now-a-days  that  will 
hold  out  a  couple  of  twelvemonths. 

Win,  Away!  I  mean  not  so,  you  giddy  pate  !  He  is 
all  honour  ;  yet  I  wonder  sometimes  he  can  bear  to  look 
upon  her. 

Wil.  Eh  !  why  so  1  Did  he  not  bring  her,  under  his 
protection,  to  the  forest,  since,  'tis  said,  she  lost  her  i ela- 
tion s  1 

Win.  Hush,  boy  ! — On  your  life,  do  not  name  her  un- 
cle— I  would  say,  her  relations  ! 

Wil.  Her  uncle  ! — Wherefore  ? — Where's  the  harm  in 
having  an  uncle,  dead  or  alive  1 

Win.  Peace,  peace  !    In  that  uncle  lies  the  secret. 

Wil.  Indeed  ! — How,  good  Adam  Winteiton  ? — I  pri 
thee,  how  ]    Let  us  drink  Sir  Edward's  health. 


SCENE  II.] 


THE   IRON  CHEST. 


19 


Win.  That  I  would,  though  'twere  a  mile  to  the  hot* 
tom.  \Drinking.]  Ha!  'tis  cheering,  i'faith  ! 
Wil.  And  this  uncle,  you  say — 

Win.  Of  Madam  Helen  1 — Ah,  there  lies  the  mischief! 

Wil.  What  mischief  can  be  in  him  % — [Wilford  invites 
Adam  to  drink  again — they  do  so.]  Why,  he  is  dead. 

Win.  Come  nearer  :  see  you  prate  not,  now,  on  your 
life  !  Our  good  master,  Sir  Edward,  was  arraigned  on 
his  account,  in  open  court. 

Wil.  Arraigned  ! — How  mean  you '? 

Win.  Alas  !  boy,  tried — tried  for— nearer  yet — his 
murder  I 

Wil.  Mu — mur — murder  ! 

Win.  WThy,  what !  why,  Wilford  ! — Out,  alas  !  the  boy's 
passion  will  betray  all  !    What,  Wilford,  I  say  ! 

Wil.  You  have  curdled  my  blood  ! 

Win.  What,  varlet !  thou  darest  not  think  ill  of  our 
worthy  master  1 

Wil.  1 — I  am  his  secretary ;  often  alone  with  him,  at 
dead  midnight,  in  his  library;  the  candles  in  the  sockets; 
and  a  man  glaring  upon  me  who  has  committed  mur — 
Ugh  !  [Crosses  to  r. 

Win.  Committed! — Thou  art  a  base,  lying  knave  to 
say  it !  Well,  well ;  hear  me,  pettish  boy,  hear  me. — 
Why,  look  now,  thou  dost  not  attend. 

Wil.  I — I  mark — I  mark. 

Win.  I  tell  thee,  then,  our  good  Sir  Edward  was  be- 
loved in  Kent,  where  he  had  returned,  a  year  before, 
from  his  travels.  Madam  Helen's  uncle  was  hated  by  all 
the  neighbourhood,  rich  and  poor — a  mere  brute.  Dost 
mark  me  % 

Wil.  Like  enough ;  but  when  brutes  walk  upon  two 
legs,  the  law  of  the  land,  thank  [leaven  !  will  not  suffer 
us  to  butcher  them. 

Win.  Go  to,  you  firebrand  !  Our  good  master  labour- 
ed all  he  could,  for  many  a  month,  to  sooth  his  turbulence, 
but  in  vain.  He  picked  a  quarrel  with  Sir  Edward  in  the 
public  county  assembly;  nay,  the  strong  ruffian  struck  him 
down,  and  trampled  on  him.  Think  on  that,  Wilford ;  on 
our  good  master,  Sir  Edward,  whose  great  soul  was  nigh 
to  burst  with  the  indignity  ! 

Wil.  Well,  but  the  end  on't  ? 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  I. 


Win.  Why,  our  young  master  took  horse  for  his  own 
house,  determined,  as  it  appeared,  to  send  a  challenge  to 
this  white-livered  giant  in  the  morning. 

Wil%  I  see  :  he  killed  him  in  a  duel. 

Win.  See,  now,  how  you  fly  off!  Sir  Edward's  re- 
venge, boy,  was  baffled ;  for  his  antagonist  was  found 
dead  in  the  street  that  night,  killed  by  some  unknown  as- 
sassins on  his  return  from  the  assembly. 

Wd.  Indeed  ! — Unknown  assassins  ! 

Win.  Nay,  'tis  plain  our  good  Sir  Edward  had  no  hand 
in  the  wicked  act ;  for  he  was  tried,  as  I  told  you,  at  the 
next  assize.  Heaven  be  thanked !  he  was  cleared  beyond 
a  shadow  of  doubt. 

Wit.  He  was]  [Crossing  to  l.]  I  breathe  again! — 
'Twas  a  happy  thing — 'twas  the  only  way  left  of  cleans- 
ing him  from  a  foul  suspicion. 

Win.  But,  alas  !  lad,  'tis  his  principal  grief;  he  was 
once  the  life  of  all  company,  but  now — 

Sir  Edward  Mortimer.  [  Without,  r.J  Winterton  ! 

Win.  Hark  !  some  one  calls.  Out  on  thee  !  thou  hast 
sunk  my  spirits  into  my  heels.  [  Looking  off,  r.]  Who  calls 
merry  old  Adam  Winterton  % 

Sir  Edward.  [  Without,  R.J  Adam  Winterton,  como 
hither  to  me ! 

Win.  Nay,  by  our  lady,  'tis  Sir  Edward  himself! — 
Pestilence  on't  !  if  I  seem  sad  now  'twill  be  noted.  I 
come,  good  Sir  Edward  !  Now,  I  charge  thee,  WiJford, 
do  not  speak  of  it  for  thy  life.  [Si?iging.\  "  When  birds" 
— \To  Wdf or d,  speaking.]  Not  a  word,  on  thy  life  !  [Sing- 
ing.]— "do  carol  on  the  bush, 

With  a  heigh  no  nonny." 
Mercy  on  me  !  [Exit,  r. 

Wd.  This  accounts,  then,  for  all.  Poor,  unhappy  gen- 
tleman !  This  unravels  all,  from  the  first  day  of  my  ser- 
vice, when  a  deep  groan  made  me  run  into  the  library, 
and  I  found  him  locking  up  his  papers  in  the  iron  chest, 
as  pale  as  ashes.  Eh!  what  can  be  in  that  chest?  Per- 
haps some  proof  of — No,  I  shudder  at  the  suggestion  ! 
'Tis  not  possible  one  so  good  can  be  guilty  of — L  know 
not  what  to  think,  nor  what  to  resolve  ;  but  curiosity  is 
roused,  and,  come  what  may,  I'll  have  an  eye  upon  him. 


Scene  III.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


21 


Scene  III. — A  Library — a  door,  it.  f, — a  book-case,  r.  c 
— an  iron  chest,  with  a  key  in  it,  l.  c. — a  table,  l.,  with 
writing  materials,  a  pistol,  fyc. 

Sir  Edward  Mortimer  discovered  at  the  writing-table,  l., 
Adam  Winterton,  attending,  r. 

Sir  E.  'Tis  his  first  trespass,  so  we'll  quit  him,  Adam ; 
But  caution  him  how  he  offend  again. 
As  keeper  of  the  forest,  I  should  fine  him. 

Win.  Nay,  that  your  worship  should :  he'll  prove  ere 
long,— 

Mark  but  my  words — a  sturdy  poacher.  Well, 
'Tis  you  know  best. 

Sir  E.  Well,  well,  no  matter,  Adam : 
He  has  a  wife  and  child. 

Win.  Ay,  bless  your  honour! 

Sir  E.  They  killed  his  dog  1 

Win.  Ay,  marry,  sir,  a  lurcher; 
Black  Martin  Wincot,  the  keeper,  shot  him — 
A  perilous  good  aim.    I  warrant  me, 
The  rogue  has  lived  this  year  upon  that  lurcher. 

Sir  E.  Poor  wretch  !    Oh,  well  bethought:  send  Wel- 
ter to  me  ; 

I  would  employ  him  ;  he  must  ride  for  me 
On  business  of  much  import. 

Win.  Lack  a  day! 
That  it  should  chance  so  !    I  have  sent  him  forth 
To  Winchester,  to  buy  me  flannel  hose, 
For  winter's  coming  on.    Good  lack  !  that  things 
Should  fall  so  crossly  ! 

Sir  E.  Nay,  nay,  do  not  fret : 
'Tis  better  that  my  business  cool,  good  Adam, 
Than  thy  old  limbs. 

Win.  Ah  !  you've  a  kindly  heart ! 

Sir  E.  Is  Wilford  waiting'? 

Win.  [Aside.]  Wilford  !— Mercy  on  me  ! 
I  tremble,  now,  to  hear  his  name. — [Aloud.]  He  is  ■ 
Here,  in  the  hall,  sir. 

Sir  E.  Send  him  in,  I  prithee. 

Win.  I  shall,  sir.    Heaven  bless  you  !   Heaven  bless 
you  !  [Exit,  r. 


THE  IRON  CHEST 


[Act 


Sir  E,  Good  morning,  good  old  heart !  [Rising,]  This 
honest  soul 

Would  fain  look  cheery  in  my  house's  gloom, 

And,  like  a  gay  and  sturdy  evergreen, 

Smiles  in  the  midst  of  blast  and  desolation, 

Where  all  around  him  withers.    Well,  well — witheT  I 

Perish  this  frail  and  fickle  frame  !  this  clay, 

That,  in  its  dross-like  compound,  doth  contain 

The  mind's  pure  ore  and  essence  !    Oh  !  that  mind, 

That  mind  of  man  !  that  godlike  spring  of  action  ! 

That  source  whence  learning,  virtue,  honour,  flow  ! 

Which  lifts  us  to  the  stars — which  carries  us 

O'er  the  swoll'n  waters  of  the  angry  deep, 

As  swallows  skim  the  air  ! — that  fame's  sole  fountain, 

That  doth  transmit  a  fair  and  spotless  name, 

When  the  vile  trunk  is  rotten  ! — Give  me  that ! 

Oh  !  give  me  but  to  live  in  after-age, 

Remembered  and  unsullied  !    Heaven  and  earth! 

Let  my  pure  flame  of  honour  shine  in  story, 

When  I  am  cold  in  death,  and  the  slow  fire 

That  wears  my  vitals  now  will  no  more  move  me, 

Than  'twould  a  corpse  within  a  monument ! 

[A  knock  at  the  doort  R.  F, 
How  now  ! — Who's  there  ? — Come  in. 

Enter  Wilford,  r.  d.  f. 

Wilford,  is't  you  1    You  were  not  wont  to  knock. 
Wil.  I  feared  I  might  surprise  you,  sir. 
Sir  E.  Surprise  me  ! 

Wit.  I  mean,  disturb  you,  sir;  yes,  at  your  studies. 
Disturb  you  at  your  studies. 

Sir  E.  Very  strange  ! 
You  were  not  used  to  be  so  cautious. 

Wil.  No, 

I  never  used  ;  but  I — hum  ! — I  have  learned — 
Sir  E.  Learned  ! 

Wil.  Better  manners,  sir.    I  was  quite  raw 
When,  in  your  bounty,  you  first  sheltered  me  ; 
But,  thanks  to  your  great  goodness,  and  the  lessons 
Of  Mr.  Winterton,  1  still  improve, 
And  pick  up  something  daily. 

Sir  E.  Ay,  indeed  ! 


III.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


23 


¥interton  ! — [Aside.]   No,  he  dare  not !  [Stepping  tip  to 
Wilford.]  Hark  you,  sir  ! 
mi  Sir  ! 

Sir  E.  [Retreating  from  him,  l.]    W  hat  am  I  about  1 
Oh,  Honour  !  Honour  ! 
Thy  pile  should  be  so  uniform,  displace 
One  atom  of  thee,  and  the  slightest  breath 
Of  a  rude  peasant  makes  thy  owner  tremble 
For  his  whole  building !    Reach  me  from  the  shelf 
The  volume  I  was  busied  in  last  night. 

Wil.  Last  night,  sir  1 

Sir  E.  Ay ;  it  treats  of  Alexander. 

Wil.  Oh,  I  remember,  sir — of  Macedon. 
I  made  some  extracts  by  your  order. 

[Goes  to  the  book-case,  h.  c. 

Sir  E.  Books 
(My  only  commerce  now,)  will  sometimes  rouse  me 
Beyond  my  nature.    I  have  been  so  warmed, 
So  heated  by  a  well-turned  rhapsody, 
That  I  have  seemed  the  hero  of  the  tale, 
So  glowingly  described.    Draw  me  a  man 
Struggling  for  fame,  attaining,  keeping  it, 
Dead  ages  since,  and  the  historian 
Decking  his  memory,  in  polished  phrase, 
And  I  can  follow  him  through  every  turn, 
Grow  wild  in  his  exploits,  myself  himself, 
Until  the  thick  pulsation  of  my  heart 
Wakes  me,  to  ponder  on  the  thing  I  am  !    [Crosses  to  r. 

Wil.  [Coming  down,  l.,  and  giving  him  the  book.]  To 
my  poor  thinking,  sir,  this  Alexander 
Would  scarcely  rouse  a  man  to  follow  him. 

Sir  E.  Indeed  1 — Why  so,  lad  1  He  is  reckoned  brave, 
Wise,  generous,  learned,  by  older  heads  than  thine. 

Wil.  I  cannot  tell,  sir ;  I  have  but  a  gleaning. 
He  conquered  all  the  world,  but  left  unconquered 
A  woisld  of  his  own  passions  ;  and  they  led  him 
(It  seems  so  there),  on  petty  provocation, 
Even  to  murder. 

[Mortimer  starts — Wilford  and  he  exchange  looks— 
both  confused. 
[Aside~\  I  have  touched  the  string  ! 
'Twas  unawares — I  cannot  help  it. 


24 


THE   IRON  CHEST. 


fAc-i  I 


Str  E.  {Attempting  to  recover  himself.]  Wilford, — 
Wilford,  1 — You  mistake  the  character. 
I — mark  you — he — Death  and  eternal  tortures  ! 

[Dashes  the  book  on  the  floor,  and  seizes  Wilford. 
Slave  !  I  will  crush  thee  !  pulverise  thy  frame, 
That  no  vile  particle  of  prying  nature 
May — [Laughing  hysterically.]  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !    I  will  not 

harm  thee,  boy  ! 
Oh,  agony  !  [Exit,  it.  d.  f. 

Wtt.  Is  this  the  high-flown  honour,  and  delicate  feeling, 
old  Winterton  talked  of,  that  cannot  bear  a  glance  at  the 
trial?  This  may  be  guilt.  If  so — Well,  what  have  I  to 
do  with  the  knowledge  on't  1 — What  could  I  do  ? — Cut 
off  my  benefactor,  who  gives  me  bread, — who  is  respect- 
ed for  his  virtues,  pitied  for  his  misfortunes,  loved  by  his 
family,  blessed  by  the  poor!  Pooh  !  he  is  innocent.  This 
is  his  pride  and  shame.  He  was  acquitted  :  thousands 
witnessed  it — thousands  rejoiced  at  it — thousands — Eh  ! 
the  key  left  in  the  iron  chest !  Circumstance  and  mystery 
tempt  me  at  every  turn.  Ought  I  ]  No  matter :  these 
are  no  common  incitements,  and  I  submit  to  the  impulse. 
I  heard  him  stride  down  the  stairs.  It  opens  with  a 
spring,  I  see.    I  tremble  in  every  joint ! 

[Goes  to  the  chest,  l.  c. 

Re-enter  Sir  Edward  Mortimer,  r.  d.  f. 

Sir  E.  I  had  forgot  the  key,  and — [Seeing  Wilford  at 
the  chest.]  Ha  !  by  hell ! 
[Snatches  a  pistol  from  the  table,  l.,  runs  up  to  him, 
and  holds  it  to  his  head — Wilford,  on  his  knees , 
claps  down  the  lid  of  the  trunk,  which  he  has  just 
opened — after  an  apparent  struggle  of  mind,  Morti- 
mer throws  the  pistol  from  him. 

Begone  !  [  Wilford  crosses  to  r.]  Come  back — come  hither 
to  me ! 

Mark  me, — I  see  thou  dost  at  every  turn, 
And  I  have  noted  thee,  too.    Thou  hast  found 
(I  know  not  how)  some  clue  to  my  disgrace — 
A.y,  my  disgrace  ! — We  must  not  mince  it  now. 
Public  dishonour!  trod  on  !  buffeted  ! 
Then  tried,  as  the  foul  demon  who  had  foiled 


Scene  111 .] 


THE   IRON  CHEST. 


25 


My  manly  means  of  vengeance !    Anguish  gnaws  me  j 

Mountains  of  shame  are  piled  upon  me, — me, 

Who  have  made  fame  my  idol !    'Twas  enough, 

But  something  must  be  superadded.    You — 

A  worm,  a  viper  I  have  warmed,  must  plant, 

In  venomed  sport,  your  sting  into  my  wounds, 

Too  tender  e'en  for  tenderness  to  touch. 

And  work  me  into  madness  !     Thou  wouldst  question 

My  very — (slave  !) — my  very  innocence, 

Ne'er  doubted  yet  by  judges  nor  arraigners. 

Wretch  !  you  have  wrung  this  from  me  ;  be  content : 

I  am  sunk  low  enough.  [Retires  up. 

Wil.  [Returning  the  key.']  Oh  !  sir  !  I  ever 
Honoured  and  loved  you  ;  but  I  merit  all : 
My  passions  hurried  me,  I  know  not  whither.  [Kneels, 
Do  with  me  as  you  please,  my  kind,  wronged  master ! 
Discard  me — thrust  me  forth — nay,  kill  me  ! 

Sir  E.  Kill  you  ! 

Wil.  I  know  not  what  I  say  ;  I  know  but  this, 
That  I  would  die  to  serve  you  ! 

Enter  Gregory,  r.  d.  f. 

Gre.  Sir,  your  brother 
Is  just  alighted  at  the  gate. 

Sir  E.  My  brother  ! 
He  could  not  time  it  worse.    Wilford,  remember  ! 
Come,  show  me  to  him. 

[Exit,  r.  d.  f.,  followed  by  Gregory. 

V/il.  Remember  ! — I  shall  never,  while  I  live,  forget  it ; 
nay,  I  shall  never,  while  I  live,  forgive  myself!  My 
knees  knock  together  still,  and  the  cold  drops  stand  on 
my  forehead,  like  rain-water  on  a  pent-house. 

Enter  Barbara,  l. 

Bar.  Oh,  dear !  what  would  any  of  the  servants  say  if 
they  should  see  me  ]    Wilford  ! 

Wil.  Eh  !  Barbara  ! — How  earnest  thou  here  ? 

Bar.  With  my  father,  who  waits  below  to  see  Sir  Ed- 
ward. 

Wil.  He — he  is  busied ;  he  cannot  see  him  now  ;  he  ia 
with  his  brother. 

c 


26 


THE  IRON  CHE^T'. 


[Act  I. 


Bar.  Troth,  I  am  sorry  for  it.  My  poor  father's  heart 
is  bursting  with  gratitude,  and  he  would  fain  ease  it,  by 
pouring  out  his  thanks  to  his  benefactor.  Oh,  Wilford ! 
yours  is  a  happy  lot,  to  have  such  a  master  as  Sir  Ed- 
ward ! 

Wil.  Happy  1    Oh,  yes — I — I  am  very  happy. 
Bar.  Mercy  !  has  any  ill  befallen  you  'i 
Wil.  No,  nothing. 

Bar.  Nay,  I'm  sure  there's  more  in  this.  Bless  me  ! 
you  look  pale.  I  couldn't  bear  to  see  you  ill  or  uneasy, 
"Wilford. 

Wil.  Couldn't  you,  Barbara  ?    Well,  well,  I  shall  be 
better  presently  ;  'tis  nothing  of  import. 
Bar.  Trust  me,  I  hope  not. 

Wil.  Well,  question  me  no  more  on't  now,  I  beseech 
you,  Barbara. 

Bar.  Believe  me,  [  would  not  question  you  but  to  con- 
sole you,  Wilford.  I  would  scorn  to  pry  into  any  one's 
grief,  much  more  yours,  Wilford,  to  satisfy  a  busy  curio- 
sity ;  though  I  am  told  there  are  such  in  the  world  who 
would. 

Wil.  I — I  am  afraid  there  are,  Barbara.  But  come, 
no  more  of  this  ;  'tis  a  passing  cloud  on  my  spirits,  and 
will  soon  blow  over. 

Bar.  Ah  !  could  I  govern  your  fortunes,  foul  weather 
should  ne'er  harm  you. 

Wil.  Should  not  -it,  sweet  1  Kiss  me.  [Kissing  her.] 
The  lips  of  a  woman  are  a  sovereign  cordial  for  melan- 
choly. 

DUETT.— Wilford  and  Barbara. 

Wil.  Sweet  little  Barbara,  when  you  are  advancing, 
Sweet  little  Barbara,  my  cares  you  remove. 

Bar.  Poor  little  Barbara  can  feel  her  heart  dancing, 
When  little  Barbara  is  met  by  her  love. 

Wil.  When  I  am  grieved,  love,  oh !  what  would  you  say  ? 

Bar.  Tattle  to  you,  love, 

And  prattle  to  you,  love, 
And  laugh  your  grief  and  care  away. 

Wil.  Sweet  little  Barbara,  &c. 

Bar.  Poor  little  Barbara,  &c. 

Wil.  Yet,  d  iare  il  Barbara,  look  all  through  the  nation 
Care,  soon  or  late,  my  love,  is  every  man's  lot. 

Bar   Sorrow  and  melancholy,  grief  and  vexation, 

When  W5  are  young  and  jolly,  soon  is  forgot. 


SCEISE  I.J 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


27 


Wil.  When  we  grow  old,  love,  then  what  will  you  say  7 
Bar.  Tattle  to  you,  love, 

And  prattle  to  you,  love, 
And  laugh  your  grief  and  care  away. 
Wil.  Sweet  little  Barbara,  &c. 
Bar.  Tooi-  little  Barbara,  &c. 

Exeunt  Barbara,  l.,  WUford,  R.  D.  F. 

END   OF  ACT  I. 


ACT  II. 
Scene  I. — The  New  Forest. 

Enter  Armstrong  and  Orson,  v..,  from  the  top  through  cut 
icood. 

Arm.  (c.)  Go  to  ! — I  tell  thee,  Orson  (as  I  have  told 
thee  more  than  once),  thou  art  too  sanguinary. 

Ors.  (l.)  And  I  tell  you,  Captain  Armstrong — but  al- 
ways under  favour,  you  being  our  leader — you  are  too 
humane. 

Arm.  Humanity  is  scarcely  counted  a  fault ;  if  so,  'tis 
a  fault  on  the  right  side. 

Ors.  Umph  ! — Perhaps  not  with  us  :  we  are  robbers. 

Arm.  And  why  should  robbers  lack  humanity  1  They 
who  plunder  most  respect  it  as  a  virtue,  and  make  a  show 
on't  to  gild  their  vices.  Lawyers,  physicians,  placemen, 
all — all  plunder  and  slay,  but  all  pretend  to  humanity. 

Ors.  They  are  regulars,  and  plunder  by  license. 

Arm.  Then  let  us  quacks  set  the  regulars  a  better  ex- 
ample. 

Ors.  This  humanity,  captain,  is  a  high  horse  you  are 
ever  bestride  upon  :  some  day,  mark  my  word,  he'll  fling 
you. 

Arm.  Cruelty  is  a  more  dangerous  beast.  When  the 
rider  is  thrown,  his  brains  are  kicked  out,  and  no  one  pi- 
ties him. 

Ors.  Like  enough ;  but  your  tough  horseman,  who 
ventures  boldly,  is  never  dismounted.  When  I  am  enga- 
ged in  a  desperate  chase  (as  we  are,  captain),  I  stick  at 
nothings    I  hate  milk-sops. 


28 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  II. 


Arm,  And  love  mutiny.  Take  heed,  Orson  ;  I  have 
before  cautioned  you  not  to  glance  at  me. 

Ors.  1  say  nothing ;  but  if  some  escape  to  inform  a 
gainst  us,  whom  we  have  robbed,  'tis  none  of  my  fault. 
Dead  men  tell  no  tales. 

Arm.  Wretch  !  [Holding  a  carbine  to  his  head.]  Speak 
that  again,  and  you  shall  tell  none  ! 

Ors.  Flash  away  !    I  don't  fear  death. 

Arm.  More  shame  for  thee  ;  for  thou  art  unfit  to  meet 
it! 

Ors.  J  know  my  trade  :  I  set  powder,  ball,  and  rope,  at 
defiance. 

Arm.  Brute  !  you  mistake  headstrong  insensibility  for 
courage.  Do  not  mistake  my  horror  of  it  for  cowardice  ; 
for  1,  who  shudder  at  cruelty,  will  fell  your  boldness  to 
the  earth  when  I  see  you  practice  it.    Submit ! 

Ors.  I  do.  But  my  courage  was  never  yet  doubted, 
cajDtain. 

Arm.  Your  nerves,  fool  !  Thou  art  a  mere  machine  : 
could  T  but  give  it  motion,  I  would  take  an  oak  from  the 
forest  here,  clap  a  flint  into  it  for  a  heart,  and  make  as 
bold  a  fellow  as  thou  art.    Listen  to  my  orders. 

Ors.  I  obey. 

Arm.  Get  thee  to  our  den  ;  [Orson  crosses  to  r.]  put  on 
thy  disguise ;  then  hie  thee  to  the  market-town,  for  provi- 
sion for  our  company.  Here — here  is  part  of  the  spoil 
we  took  yesternight ;  [Giving  money.]  see  you  bring  an 
honest  account  of  what  you  lay  out. 

Ors.  My  honour  ! 

Ann.  Well,  I  do  not  doubt  thee,  here.  Our  profession 
is  singular — its  followers  do  not  cheat  one  another.  You 
will  not  be  back  till  dusk  ;  see  you  fall  not  on  any  poor 
straggling  peasant  as  you  return. 

Ors.  I  would  fain  encounter  the  solitary  man,  who  is 
sometimes  wandering  by  night  about  the  forest; — he  is 
•  rich. 

Arm.  Not  for  your  life  !  'Tis  Sir  Edward  Mortimer, 
the  head  keeper.  Touch  him  not — 'tis  too  near  home: 
besides,  he  is  no  object  for  plunder.  He  is  good  to  the 
poor,  and  should  walk  unmolested  by  charity's  charter. — . 
'Tvvere  pity  that  he  who  administers  to  necessity  all  day. 
Bhould  be  rifled  by  necessity  at  night.  An'  thou  shouldst 
meet  him,  I  charge  thee  spare  him. 


Scene  II.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


29 


Ors.  I  must,  if  it  be  your  order.  The  profession  will 
soon  tumble  into  decay,  when  thieves  grow  tender-hearted, 
When  a  man  drives  the  trade  of  a  wolf,  he  should  not  go 
to  his  business  like  a  lamb.  [Exit,  r. 

Arm.  This  fellow  is  downright  villain,  hardened  and  re- 
lentless. I  have  felt,  in  my  penury,  the  world  trample  on 
me;  it  has  driven  me  to  take  that,  desperately,  which 
wanting  I  should  starve.  Death  !  my  spirit  cannot  brook 
to  see  a  sleek  knave  walk  negligently  by  his  fellow  in  mi- 
sery, and  suffer  him  to  rot.  I  will  wrench  that  comfort 
from  him  which  he  will  not  bestow.  But  nature  puts  a 
bar :  let  him  administer  to  my  wants,  and  pass  on  ;  I  have 
done  with  him  ! 

SONG. — Armstrong. 

When  the  robber  his  victim  has  noted, 

When  the  freebooter  darts  on  his  prey, 
Let  Humanity  spare  the  devoted, — 

Let  Mercy  forbid  him  to  slay. 

Since  my  hope  is  by  penury  blighted, 

My  sword  must  the  traveller  daunt ; 
I  will  snatch  from  the  rich  man,  benighted, 

The  gold  he  denies  to  my  want. 

But  the  victim  when  once  I  have  noted, 

At  my  foot  when  I  look  on  my  prey, 
Let  Humanity  spare  the  devoted, — 

Let  Mercy  forbid  me  to  slay  ! 

Scene  II. — The  Hall  in  Sir  Edward  Mortimer's  Lodge, 

Enter  Fitzharding,  l, 

■Filz.  Well,  business  must  be  minded  ;  but  he  stays 
A  tedious  time,  methinks. 

Enter  Gregory,  r.,  and  crosses  to  l. 
You,  fellow ! 
Gre.  Sir ! 

Fitz.  Where  is  Sir  Tristful  ?  where's  Don  Melancholy  ? 
Gre.  Who,  sir  % 

Fitz.  My  brother,  knave — Sir  Edward  Mortimer. 

Gre.  He  was  with  you  but  now,  sir. 

Fitz.  Sir,  I  thank  you. 
That's  information  !    Louts,  and  serving-men, 
Can  never  parley  straight.  Who  brought  in  my  luggage  ? 


30 


THE   IRON  CHEST. 


I  Ac  r  II 


Gre.  It  was  not  T,  sir. 

Filz.  There — they  never  can  ! 
Go  to  your  master  ;  pray  him  to  despatch 
His  household  work  ;  tell  him,  I  hate  fat  folios. 
Plague  !  when  I  cross  the  country,  here,  to  see  him, 
He  leaves  me,  rammed  into  an  elbow  chair, 
With  a  huge  heavy  book,  that  makes  me  nod, 
Then  tumbles  on  my  toes  !    Tell  him — dost  hear  ] 
Captain  Fitzharding's  company  has  tired  me. 

Gre.  Whose  company  ] 

Fitz.  My  own,  knave. 

Gre.  Sir,  I  shall.  [Exit,  it 

Fitz.  A  book  to  me's  a  sovereign  narcotic, 

A  lump  of  opium — every  line  a  dose. 

Edward  is  all  deep  reading.    Poor  fellow  ! 

Grief  will  do  much.    Well,  some  it  drives  to  reading, 

And  some  to  drinking.    Plague  upon't !  this  house 

Appears  the  very  cave  of  melancholy  ! 

Nay,  hold,  I  lie  ! — Here  comes  a  petticoat. 

Enter  Blanch,  r.,  and  crosses  to  l. 

Od  !  a  rare  wench  !    This  is  the  best  edition 

In  Edward's  whole  collection.    Here,  come  hither: 

Let  me  peruse  you. 

Blanch.  Would  you  speak  to  me,  sir  % 

Fitz.  Ay,  child.    I'm  going  now  to  read  you. 

Blanch.  Read  me  ! 
You'll  find  me  full  of  errors,  sir.  . 

Fitz.  No  matter. 
Come  nearer,  child;  I  cannot  see  to  read 
At  such  a  distance. 

Blanch.  You  had  better,  sir, 
Put  on  your  spectacles. 

Fitz.  \Aside.\  Ay,  there  she  has  me  ! 
k  plague  upon  old  Time  ! — Old  Scythe  and  Hourglass 
Has  set  his  mark  upon  me  ! — \ Aloud.]  Hark  ye,  child  : 
You  do  not  know  me  ;  you  and  I  must  have 
Better  acquaintance. 

Blanch.  Oh,  I've  heard  of  you  : 
You  are  Sir  Edward's  kinsman,  sir — his  brother. 

Fitz.  Ay,  his  half-brother,  by  the  mother's  side ; 
His  elder  brother. 


Scene  II.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


3! 


Blanch.  Yes,  sir,  I  see  that. 

Fitz.  [ Aside.]  This  gipsy's  tongue  is  like  Her  eye — ] 
know  not 

Which  is  the  sharpest. — [Aloud.]    Tell  me  what's  your 
name. 

Blanch.  My  name  is  Blanch,  sir;  born  here  in  the  fo 
rest. 

Fitz.  'Sbud  !  I  must  be  a  keeper  in  this  forest. 
Whither  art  going,  sweet  one  1 

Blanch.  Home,  sir. 

Fitz.  Home ! 
Why,  is  not  this  thy  home  1 

Blanch.  No,  sir.    I  live 
Some  half  mile  hence,  with  Madam  Helen,  sir. 
I  brought  a  letter  from  her  to  Sir  Edward. 

Fitz.  Odso  !  with  Helen  1    So,  with  her  !  the  object 
Of  my  grave  brother's  groaning  passion  !    Plague  ! 
I  would  'twere  in  the  house.    I  do  not  like 
Your  pastoral  rheumatic  assignations, 
Under  an  elm,  by  moonlight.  !    This  will  end 
In  flannels  and  sciatica.    My  passion 
Is  not  Arcadian.    Tell  me,  pretty  one, 
Shall  1  walk  with  you  home  % 

Blanc11.  No,  sir,  I  thank  you ; 
It  would  fatigue  you  sadly. 

Fitz.  Fatigue  me  ! 
[Aside.]  Oons  !  this  wild  forest  filly  here  would  make  me 
Grandfather  to  Methusaleh  ! — [Aloud.]  Look  here, 
Here  is  a  purse  of  money. 

Blanch.  Oh,  the  father  ! 
What,  will  you  give  me  any  1 

Fitz.  [Aside.]  Gold  I  find 
The  universal  key — the  passe  jxir  tout  : 
It  will  unlock  a  forest  maiden's  heart, 
As  easy  as  a  politician's. — [Aloud.]  Here, — 
Here  are  two  pieces,  rose-bud  ;  buy  a  top-knot — 
Make  thyself  happy  with  them. 

Blanch.  That  L  will. 
The  poor  old  woman,  northward  of  the  lodge, 
Lies  sick  in  bed  :  I'll  take  her  this  poor  soul! 
To  comfort  her. 

Fitz.  H  >ld  !— Hey,  the  devil !  hold  ! 


32 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[iVCT  II 


This  was  not  meant  to  comfort  an  old  woman.  - 
Blanch.  Why,  wouldn't  you  relieve  her,  sir  ? 
Fitz.  Urn  !— Yes  ; 

But — Psha!  pooh! — Pr'ythee — there's  a  time   fcr  all 
things  : 

Why  tell  me  of  her  now, — of  an  old  fool  ? 
Of  comforting  the  aged  now  1 

Blanch.  I  thought 
That  you  might  have  a  fellow-feeling,  sir. 

Fitz.  This  little  rural  devil's  laughing  at  me  ! 
Oons  !  come  and  kiss  me,  jade  ! — I  am  a  soldier, 
And  justice  of  the  peace, 

Blanch.  Then  shame  upon  you  ! 
Your  double  calling  might  have  taught  you  better. 
I  see  your  drift  now.    Take  your  dirt  again, 

[  Throws  down  the  money R. 
Good  Captain  Justice,  stoop  for  it !  and  think 
How  an  old  soldier  and  a  justice  looks, 
When  he  is  picking  up  the  bribes  he  offers 
To  injure  those  he  should  protect  !  [Exit,  l. 

Fitz.  I  warrant  me, 
Could  I  but  see  my  face  now  in  a  glass, 
That  I  look  wondrous  sheepish.    I'm  ashamed 
To  pick  up  the  two  pieces.    Let  them  lie. 
I  would  not  wrong  the  innocent :  good  reason, — 
There  be  so  few  that  are  so.    She  is  honest : 
I  must  make  reparation.    Odso  !  Wilford  ! 

Enter  Wilford,  l. 

How  fares  it,  boy  1 

Wil.  I  thank  you,  sir.    I  hope  you  have  enjoyed 
Your  health,  these  three  months  past,  since  last  you  ho* 

noured  us 
With  your  good  presence  at  the  lodge. 

Fitz.  Indifferent ; 
Some  cramps  and  shooting  pains,  boy, — I  have  dropped 
Some  cash  here,  but  I  am  afraid  to  bend 
To  pick  it  up  again,  lest  it  should  give  me 
An  awkward  twinge.    Stoop  for  it,  honest  Wilford, 
There's  a  good  lad. 

Wil.  Right  willingly,  sir. 

[Crosses  to  r.,  and  picks  up  the  money. 


Scene  II.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


33 


Fitz.  So 

The  soldier  and  the  justice  save  their  blushes  ! 
Now  carry  it,  I  pr'ythee,  at  your  leisure, 
To  an  old  gossip  near  the  lodge  here — northward, 
I've  heard  of  her;  she's  bed-ridden  and  sick. 
You  need  not  say  who  sent  you. 

Wil.  I  conceive. 
'Tis  private  bounty  ;  that  s  true  charity. 

Fitz.  Nay,  pish  ! — My  charity  ! 

Wil.  Nay,  I  could  swear 
'Tis  not  the  first  time  you  have  offered  this 
In  secret. 

Fitz.  Um  ! — Why,  no,  not  quite  the  first. 
But  tell  me,  lad,  how  jogs  the  world  here,  eh 
En  Rueful  Castle  1    Harkye,  Wilford,  harkye  : 
Thou'rt  a  sly  rogue  !    What !  you  could  never  tell  me 
Of  Helen's  waiting-maid — the  little  cherry  ; 
Of — Plague  upon  her  name  !  Of — 

Wil.  Blanch,  sir  ] 

Fitz.  Blanch  ; 
That's  she — the  forest  fairy.    You  and  I 
Must  have  some  talk  about  her.    Come  hither. 

[  They  retire  up  l. 

Enter  Sir  Edward  Mortimer,  r. 

Sir  E.  Now  for  my  brother,  and — Ha  !  Wilford  with 
him  ! 

That  imp  is  made  my  scourge.    They  whisper,  too. 
Wilford ! 

Wil.  Who  calls?— Eh!  'tis  Sir  Edward  ! 
Fitz.  Mum  ! 

Sir  E.  I  seem  to  interrupt  you. 

Wit.  [Earnestly -.J  No,  indeed, — 
No,  on  my  life,  sir.    We  were  only  talking 
Of— 

Fitz.  Hold  your  tongue  !    Oons,  boy  !  you  must  not 

tell. 
Sir  E.  Not ! 

Fitz.  Not ! — No,  to  be  sure.    Why,  'tis  a  secret. 
Wil.  You  shall  know  all,  sir.   'Twas  a  trifle — nothing; 
In  faith,  you  shall  know  all. 

Fitz.  In  faith,  you  lie  !  [Crosses  to  Sir  Edward. 


34 


THE   IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  II. 


Be  satisfied,  good  Edward  :  'tis  a  toy  ; 
But,  of  all  men,  I  would  not  have  thee  know  on't ; 
It  is  a  tender  subject. 
Sir  E.  (r.)  Ay,  indeed  ! 

Fitz.  (c.)  May  not  I  have  my  secret  ?     Oons  !  good 
brother, 

What  would  you  say,  now,  should  a  meddling  knave 
Busy  his  brains  with  matters,  though  but  trivial, 
"Which  concern  you  alone 

Sir  E.  I'd  have  him  rot, — 
Die  piecemeal — pine — moulder  in  misery  ! 
Agent  and  sacrifice  to  Heaven's  wrath, 
When  castigating  plagues  are  hurled  on  man, 
Stands  lean  and  lynx-eyed  Curiosity, 
Watching  his  neighbour's  soul ;  sleepless  himself, 
To  banish  sleep  from  others.    Like  a  leech, 
Sucking  the  blood-drops  from  a  care-worn  heart, 
He  gorges  on't ;  then  renders  up  his  food 
To  nourish  Calumny,  his  foul-lunged  mate, 
Who  carries  Rumour's  trumpet ;  and  whose  breath, 
Infecting  the  wide  surface  of  the  world, 
Strikes  pestilence  and  blight  !    Oh,  fie  on't !  fie  ! 
Whip  me  the  curious  wretch  from  pole  to  pole, 
Who  writhes  in  fire,  and  scorches  all  around  him, 
A  victim,  making  victims  ! 

Fitz.  By  the  mass, 
'Twere  a  sound  whipping  that,  from  pole  to  pole  ! 
From  constable  to  constable  might  serve. 

Sir  E.  Your  pardon,  brother; 
I  had  forgot.    Wilford,  I've  business  for  you  : 
Wait  for  me — ay — an  hour  after  dinner, 
Wait  for  me  in  the  library, 

Wil.  [Aside.]  The  library! 
I  sicken  at  the  sound  ! — [Aloud.]  Wait  there  for  you— 
and — 

Captain  Fitzharding,  sir  1 
Sir  E.  For  me  alone. 
Wil.  Alone,  sir  1 
Sir  E.  Yes. — Begone  ! 

Wil.  I  shall,  sir.  [Aside  to  Sir  Edward,  R.J  But 
If  I  have  ever  breathed  a  syllable 
That  might  displease  you,  may — 


Scene  II.]  THE  IRON  CHEST.  35 

Sir  E.  Fool  !  breathe  no  more  ! 
Wil.  I'm  dumb. 
[J^VZe.]  I'd  rather  step  into  a  lion's  den, 
Than  meet  him  in  the  library  ! — [Aloud.]  I  gf),  sir, 

[Exit,  r. 

Fitz.  Brother,  you  are  too  harsh  with  that  poor  boy. 

Sir  E.  Brother,  a  man  must  rule  his  family 
In  his  own  way. 

Fitz.  Well,  well,  well;  don't  be  touchy. 
I  speak  not  to  offend  ;  I  only  speak 
On  a  friend's  privilege.    The  poor  are  men, 
And  have  their  feelings,  brother. 

Sir  E.  So  have  I. 

Fitz.  One  of  the  best  that  we  can  show,  believe  me, 
Is  mildness  to  a  servant.    Servants,  brother, 
Are  born  with  fortune's  yoke  about  their  necks, 
And  that  is  galling  in  itself  enough  ; 
We  should  not  goad  them  under  it. 

Sir  E.  Brother,  your  hand.  You  have  a  gentle  nature: 
May  no  mischance  e'er  ruffle  it,  my  brother  ! 
I've  known  thee  from  my  infancy,  old  soldier ; 
And  never  did  I  know — I  do  not  flatter — 
A  heart  more  stout,  more  cased  with  hardy  manhood, 
More  full  of  milk  within.    Trust  me,  dear  friend, 
If  admiration  of  thy  charity 
May  argue  charity  in  the  admirer, 
I  am  not  destitute. 

Fitz.  You  ! — I  have  seen  you 
Sometimes  o'erflow  with  it. 

Sir  E.  And.  what  avails  it  % 
Honour  has  been  my  theme — good-will  to  man 
My  study.    I  have  laboured  for  a  name 
As  white  as  mountain  snow,  dazzling  and  speckless. 
Shame  on't !  'tis  blurred  with  blots  !,    Fate,  like  a  mildew, 
Ruins  the  virtuous  harvest  I  would  reap, 
And  all  my  crop  is  weeds ! 

Fitz.  Why,  how  now,  brother  1 
This  is  all  spleen.    You  mope  yourself  too  much 
In  this  dull  forest  here.    Come,  come,  rouse  you,  man  \ 
I  came  on  purpose,  thirty  miles  from  home, 
To  jog  your  spirits.    Pr'ythee,  now,  be  gay  ; 
And,  pr'ythee,  too,  be  kind  to  my  young  favourite — 
To  Wilford  there. 


36 


THE   IRON  CHEST. 


[Act IL 


Sir  E.  Well,  well ;  1  hope  I  have  been. 

Fitz.  No  doubt,  in  actions  ;  but  in  words  ard  looks. 
A  rugged  look's  a  damper  to  a  greenhorn. 
I  watched  him  now,  when  you  frowned  angrily, 
And  he  betrayed — 

Sir  E.  Betrayed ! 

Fitz.  Ten  thousand  fears. 

Sir  E.  Oh  ! 

Fitz.  The  poor  devil  couldn't  have  shown  more  scared 
Had  you  e'en  held  a  pistol  to  his  head. 

[Sir  Edward  starts. 

"Why,  hey-day  !  what's  the  matter  1 

Sir  E.  Brother, 
Question  me  not ;  my  nerves  are  aspen-like, 
The  slightest  breath  will  shake  'em.    [Crossing  to  R.J 
Come,  good  brother. 

Fitz.  You'll  promise  to  be  gay  ] 

Sir  E.  I'll  do  my  best. 

Fitz.  Why,  that's  well  said ;  a  man  can  do  no  more. 
Od  !  I  believe  my  rattling  talk  has  given  you 
A  stir  already. 

Sir  E.  That  it  has,  indeed. 
Come,  brother. 

Scene  III. — Helen's  Cottage. 
Enter  Helen  and  Samson,  l. 

Hel.  Are  you  he  that  wish  to  enter  in  my  service  % 
Sam.  Yes,  so  please  you,  Madam  Helen,  for  want  of  a 
better. 

Hel.  Why,  I  have  seen  you  in  the  forest,  at  Rawbold's 
cottage.    He  is  your  father,  as  I  think. 

Sam.  Yes,  so  please  you,  madam,  for  want  of  a  better. 

Hel.  I  fear  me,  you,  may  well  say  that.  Your  father, 
as  I  have  heard,  bears  an  ill  name  in  the  forest. 

Sam.  Alas  !  madam,  he  is  obliged  to  bear  it — for  want 
of  a  better.  We  are  all  famished,  madam  ;  and  the  na- 
ked and  hungry  have  seldom  many  friends  to  speak  well 
of  them, 

Hel.  If  I  should  hire  thee,  who  will  give  thee  a  cha- 
racter ] 

Sam.  My  father,  madam. 


Scene  III.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


37 


Hcl.  Why,  sirrah,  lie  has  none  of  his  own. 

Sam.  The  more  fatherly  in  him,  madam,  to  give  his  son 
what  he  has  need  of  for  himself.  But  a  knave  is  often 
applied  to,  to  vouch  for  a  good  servant's  honesty.  I  will 
serve  you  as  faithfully  as  your  last  footman,  who,  1  have 
heard,  ran  away  this  morning. 

Hcl.  Truly,  he  did  so. 

Sam.  I  was  told  on't  some  half  hour  ago,  and  ran,  hun- 
grily, hither,  to  offer  myself.  So,  please  you,  let  not  po- 
verty stand  in  the  way  of  my  preferment. 

Hcl.  Should  I  entertain  you,  what  could  you  do  to 
make  yourself  useful  1 

Sa?)i.  Anything  :  I  can  wire  hares,  snare  partridges, 
shoot  a  buck,  and  smuggle  brandy  for  you,  madam. 

Hel.  Fie  on  you,  knave  !  'Twere  fitter  to  turn  you 
over  to  the  verderors  of  the  forest  for  punishment,  than 
to  encouiage  you  in  such  practices. 

Sam.  I  would  practice  anything  better  that  might  get 
me  bread.  I  would  scrape  trenchers,  fill  buckets,  and 
carry  a  message.   What  can  a  man  do  1   He  can't  starve. 

Hel,  Well,  sirrah,  to  snatch  thee  from  evil,  I  care  not 
if  I  make  a  trial  of  thee. 

Sam.  No  !  will  you  ? 

Hel.  Nineteen  in  twenty  might  question  my  prudence 
for  this  ;  but  whatever  loss  I  may  suffer  from  thy  rogue- 
ry, the  thought  of  having  opened  a  path  to  lead  a  needy 
wanderer  back  to  virtue,  will  more  than  repay  me. 

Sam.  Oh,  blsss  you,  lady!  If  I  do  not  prove  virtuous, 
never  trust  in  man  more  !  [Kneeling.]  I  am  overjoyed  ! 

Hel.  Get  thee  to  the  kitchen  ;  you  will  find  a  livery 
there  will  suit  you. 

Sam.  [Rising.]  A  livery! — Oh,  the  father! — Virtuous 
and  a  livery,  all  in  a  few  seconds  !    Heaven  bless  you  ! 

Hel.  Well,  get  you  to  your  work, 

Sam.  I  go,  madam.  If  I  break  anything  to-day,  be- 
seech you  let  it  go  for  nothing ;  for  joy  makes  my  hand 
tremble.  Should  you  want  me,  please  to  cry  Samson, 
and  I  am  with  you  in  a  twinkling.  Heaven  bless  you  ! 
Here's  fortune  !  [Exit,  l. 

Hel.  Blanch  stays  a  tedious  time.  Heaven  send  Mor- 
timer's health  be  not  worse  !  He  is  sadly  altered  since 
we  came  to  the  ft  rest.    I  dreamed  last  night  of  the  fire 

D 


38 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  II. 


lie  saved  me  from  ;  and  I  saw  him,  ail  fresh,  in  manly 
bloom,  bearing  me  through  the  flames,  even  as  it  once 

happened. 

Entc?-  Blanch,  l. 

flow  now,  wench  ?    You  have  almost  tired  my  patience. 

Blanch.  And  my  own  legs,  madam.  If  the  old  footman 
had  not  made  so  much  use  of  his,  by  running  away,  they 
might  have  spared  mine. 

Hel.  Inform  me  of  Sir  Edward  Mortimer. 
Hast  seen  him  1 

Blanch.  Yes,  I  have,  madam. 

Hel.  Say — tell  me, 
How  looked  he  ? — How's  his  health  ] — Is  he  in  spirits  1 
What  said  he,  Blanch  1 — Will  he  be  here  to-day  ] 

Blanch.  A  little  breath,  madam,  and  I  will  answer  all 
duly. 

Hel.  Oh,  fie  upon  thee,  wench  ! 
These  interrogatories  should  be  answered 
Quicker  than  breath  can  utter  them. 

Blanch.  That's  impossible,  lady. 

Hel.  Thou  wouldst  not  say  so,  hadst  thou  ever  loved. 
Love  has  a  fleeter  messenger  than  speech 
To  tell  love's  meaning ;  his  expresses  post 
Upon  the  orbs  of  vision,  ere  the  tongue 
Can  shape  them  into  words.    A  lover's  look 
Is  his  heart's  Mercury.    Oh  !  the  eye's  eloquence, 
Twin-born  with  thought,  outstrips  the  tardy  voice, 
Far  swifter  than  the  nimble  lightning's  flash, — 
The  sluggish  thunder-peal  that  follows  it ! 

Blanch.  I  am  not  skilled  in  eye-talking,  madam.  I 
have  been  used  to  let  my  discourse  ride  upon  my  tongue  ; 
and  I  have  been  told,  'twill  trot  at  a  good  round  pace 
upon  occasion. 

Hel.  Then  let  it  gallop  now,  beseech  you,  wench, 
And  bring  me  news  of  Mortimer. 

Blanch.  Then,  madam,  I  saw  Sir  Edward  in  his  libra- 
ry, and  delivered  your  letter.  He  will  be  here,  either  in 
the  evening,  or  on  the  morrow — 'tis  uncertain  which ;  for 
his  brother,  Captain  Fitzharding,  is  arrived  on  a  visit  to 
him.  But  Sir  Edward's  letter  may  chance  to  specify  fur- 
ther particulars. 


Scene  III.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


39 


Hel.  His  letter  ! — has  he  written  1    Fie  upon  thee  ! 
Why  didst  not  give  it  me  at  once  ? — Where  is  it  ] 
Thou  art  turned  dreamer,  wench  !    Come — quickly! 

Blanch.  You  talked  to  me  so  much  of  reading  eyes, 
madam,  that  I  e'en  forgot  the  letter.    Here  it  is. 

[Gives  it. 

J  J  el.  Come  to  me  shortly  in  my  cabinet; 
I'll  read  it  there.    I  am  almost  unfit 
To  open  it  :  I  ne'er  receive  his  letters, 
But  my  hand  trembles.    W ell,  I  know  'tis  silly, 
And  yet  I  cannot  help  it.    I  will  ring, 
Then  come  to  me,  good  Blanch — not  yet.  My  Mortimer ! 
Now  for  your  letter.  [Exit,  r. 

Blanch.  I  would  they  were  wedded  once,  and  all  this 
trembling  would  be  over.  I  am  told  your  married  lady's 
feelings  are  little  roused  in  reading  letters  from  a  husband. 

Re-enter  Samson,  l.,  dressed  in  a  livery. 

Sa?n.   This  sudden  turn  of  fortune  might  puff  some 
men  up  with  pride.    I  have  looked  in  the  glass  already, 
and  if  ever  man  looked  braver  in  a  glass  than  I,  I  know 
nothing  of  finery. 

Blanch.  Hey-day  !  who  have  we  here  ? 

Sam.  Oh,  lord  !  this  is  the  maid — I  mean,  the  waiting- 
woman.  I  warrant  we  shall  be  rare  company  in  a  long 
winter's  evening. 

Blanch.  Why,  who  are  you  1 

Sam.  I'm  your  fellow-servant — the  new-comer. — The 
last  footman  cast  his  skin  in  the  pantry  this  morning,  and 
I  have  crept  into  it. 

Blanch.  Why,  sure,  it  cannot  be!  Now  I  look  upon 
you  again,  you  are  Samson  Rawbold,  old  R-awbold's  son, 
of  the  forest  here. 

Sam.  The  same.  I  am  not  like  some  upstarts  :  when  I 
am  prosperous,  I  do  not  turn  my  back  on  my  poor  rela- 
tions. 

Blanch.  What,  has  my  lady  hired  thee  1 

Sa?n.  She  has  taken  me,  like  a  pad  nag,  upon  trial. 

Blanch.  I  suspect  you  will  play  her  a  jade's  trick,  and 
stumble  in  your  probation.  You  have  been  caught  trip- 
ping ere  now. 

Sam.  An'  I  do  not  give  content,  'tis  none  of  my  fault 


40 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[ACT  II 


A  man's  qualities  cannot  come  out  all  at  once.  I  wis'A 
you  would  teach  me  a  little  how  to  lay  a  cloth.  - 

Blanch,  You  are  well  qualified  for  your  office,  truly, 
not  to  know  that. 

Sam.  To  say  truth,  we  had  little  practice  that  way  at 
home.  We  stood  not  upon  forms  ;  we' had  sometimes  no 
cloth  for  a  dinner — 

Blanch.  And  sometimes  no  dinner  for  a  cloth. 

Sam.  Just  so.    We  had  little  order  in  our  family. 

Blanch.  Well,  I  will  instruct  you. 

Sain.  That's  kind.  I  will  be  grateful.  They  tell  me  I 
have  learned  nothing  but  wickedness  yet;  but  I  will  in- 
struct you  in  anything  I  know,  in  return. 

Blanch.  There,  I  have  no  mind  to  become  your  scholar. 
V)\\t  be  steady  in  your  service,  and  you  may  outlive  your 
beggary,  and  grow  into  lespect.  [Exit,  r. 

Sam.  Nay,  an'  riches  rain  upon  me,  respect  will  grow, 
of  course.  I  never  knew  a  rich  man  yet  who  wanted 
followers  to  pull  off  their  caps  to  him. 

SONG. — Samson. 

A  traveller  stopped  at  a  widow's  gate  ; 
She  kept  an  inn,  and  he  wanted  to  bait, 

But  the  landlady  slighted  her  guest. 
For  when  Nature  was  making  an  ugly  race, 
She  certainly  moulded  the  traveller's  face, 

As  a  sample  for  all  the  rest. 

The  chambermaid's  sides  they  were  ready  to  crack, 
When  she  saw  his  queer  nose  and  the  hump  at  his  back, 

(A  hump  isn't  handsome,  no  doubt) ; 
And,  though  'tis  confessed  that  the  prejudice  goes 
Very  strongly  in  favour  of  wearing  a  nose, 

Yet  a  nose  shouldn't  look  like  a  snout. 

A  bag  full  of  gold  on  the  table  he  laid  ; 

'T  had  a  wondrous  effect  on  the  widow  and  maid, 

And  they  quickly  grew  marvellous  civil. 
The  money  immediately  altered  the  case ; 

They  were  charmed  with  his  hump,  and  his  snout,  and  his  face. 
Though  he  still  might  have  frightened  the  devil. 

He  paid  like  a  prince,  gave  the  widow  a  smack, 
Then  flopped  on  his  horse  at  the  door  like  a  sack; 

While  the  landlady,  touching  the  chink, 
Cried,  "  Sir,  should  you  travel  this  country  again, 
I  heartily  hope  that  the  sweetest  of  men 

Will  stop  at  the  widow's  to  drink.' 

[Exit,  L. 


Scene  IV.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


41 


Scene  IV. —  The  Library  as  he/ore. 
Wilford  discovered. 

Wil.  I  would  Sir  Edward  were  come.  The  dread  of  a 
fearful  encounter  is  often  as  terrible  as  the  encounter  it- 
self. Eh  !  he's  coming  !  No  !  The  old  wainscot  cracks, 
and  frightens  me  out  of  my  wits  ;  and  I  verily  believe,  the 
great  folio  dropped  on  my  head  just  now  from  the  shelf, 
on  purpose  to  increase  my  terrors. 

Enter  Sir  Edward  Mortimer,  r.  door,  which  helocks  afte? 
him — Wilford  turns  round  on  hearing  him  shut  it. 

[Aside,  l.  c]  What's  that]  'Tis  he  himself! — Mercy  on 
me  !  he  has  locked  the  door  !  What  is  ?oin^  to  become 
of  me ! 

Sir  E.  Wilford,  is  no  one  in  the  picture-gallery  ? 

Wil.  No — not  a  soul,  sir — not  a  human  soul ; 
None  within  hearing,  if  I  were  to  bawl 
Ever  so  loud. 

Sir  E.  [Pointing  to  l.]  Lock  yonder  door. 

Wil  The  door,  sir  ! 

Sir  E.  [Sitting,  r.  c]  Do  as  T  bid  you. 

IVil.  What,  sir,  lock —       [Mortimer  leaves  his  hand. 

I  shall,  sir.  [Goes  to  the  door,  l.,  and  locks  it. 

His  face  has  little  anger  in  it,  neither ; 

'Tis  rather  marked  with  sorrow  and  distress. 

Sir  E.  Wilford,  approach  me.    What  am  I  to  say 

For  aiming  at  your  life  ?    Do  you  not  scorn  me, 

Despise  me  for  it  1 
Wil  I  !— Oh,  sir- 
Sir  E.  You  must ; 

For  I  am  singled  from  the  herd  of  men, 

A  vile,  heart-broken  wretch  ! 

•   Wil.  Indeed,  indeed,  sir, 

You  deeply  wrong  yourself.    Your  equals'  love, 
The  poor  man's  prayer,  the  orphan's  tear  of  gratitude, 
All  follow  you  ;  and  I — I  owe  you  all — 
I  am  most  bound  to  bless  you ! 

Sir  E.  Mark  me,  Wilford. 
I  know  the  value  of  the  orphan's  tear, 
The  poor  man's  prayer,  respect  from  the  respected ; 


12 


THE   IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  II. 


I  feel,  to  merit  these,  and  to  obtain  them, 

Is  to  taste  here  below  that  thrilling  cordial, 

Which  the  remunerating  angel  draws 

From  the  eternal  fountain  of  delight, 

To  pour  on  blessed  souls  that  enter  heaven. 

I  feel  this — I !    How  must  my  nature,  then, 

Revolt  at  him  who  seeks  to  stain  his  hand 

In  human  blood  1    And  yet,  it  seems,  this  day 

I  sought  your  life.    Oh,  I  have  suffered  madness  ! 

None  know  my  tortures — pangs  ;  but  I  can  end  them,— 

End  them  as  far  as  appertains  to  thee. 

I  have  resolved  it :  hell-born  struggles  tear  me  ; 

But  I  have  pondered  on't,  and  I  must  trust  thee. 

Wil.  Your  confidence  shall  not  be — 

Sir  E.  You  must  swear. 

Wil.  Swear,  sir  !    Will  nothing  but  an  oath,  then — 

Sir  E.  [Rising  and  seizing  Wilford's  arm.]  Listen  : 
May  all  the  ills  that  wait  on  frail  humanity 
Be  doubled  on  your  head,  if  you  disclose 
My  fatal  secret !    May  your  body  turn 
Most  lazar-like  and  loathsome,  and  your  mind 
More  loathsome  than  your  body !    May  those  fiends, 
Who  strangle  babes  for  very  wantonness, 
Shrink  back,  and  shudder  at  your  monstrous  crimes, 
And,  shrinking,  curse  you  !    Palsies  strike  your  youth  ; 
And  the  sharp  terrors  of  a  guilty  mind 
Poison  your  aged  days  ;  while  all  your  nights, 
As  on  the  earth  you  lay  your  houseless  head, 
Out-horror  horror  !    May  you  quit  the  world 
Abhorred,  self-hated,  hopeless  for  the  next, 
Your  life  a  burthen,  and  your  death  a  fear  ! 

Wil.  For  mercy's  sake,  forbear  !  you  terrify  me. 

Sir  E.  Hope  this  may  fall  upon  thee ;   swear  thou 
hopest  it, 

By  every  attribute  which  heaven,  earth,  hell, 
Can  lend,  to  bind  and  strengthen  conjuration, 
If  thou  betray'st  me  ! 

Wil  [Hesitating.]  Well— I— 

Sir  E.  No  retreating. 

Wil.  [After  a  pause.}  I  swear,  by  all  the  ties  that  bind 
a  man, 

Divine  or  human,  never  to  divulge  ! 


fe'CENE  IV.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


43 


Sir  E.  Remember,  you  have  sought  this  secret — yes, 
Extorted  it.    I  have  not  thrust  it  on  you. 
'Tis  big  with  clanger  to  you  ;  and  to  me, 
While  I  prepare  to  speak,  torment  unutterable. 
Know,  Wilford,  that — Damnation  ! 

Wil.  Dearest  sir, 
CoKect  yourself;  this  shakes  you  horribly. 
You  had  this  trembling,  it  is  scarce  a  week, 
At  Madam  Helen's. 

Sir  E.  There  it  is.    Her  uncle — 

Wil.  Her  uncle  ! 

Sir  E.  Him.    She  knows  it  not — none  know  it : 
You  are  the  first  ordained  to  hear  me  say, 
I  am — his  murderer  ! 

Wil.  Oh,  Heaven  ! 
i   Sir  E.  His  assassin  ! 
^  IVil.   What !    you  that — mur — the  murder — I  am 
choked  ! 

Sir  E.  Honour — thou  blood-stained  god  !  at  whose  red 
altar 

"war  and  homicide,  oh  !  to  what  madness 
Hml  insult  drive  thy  votaries  !    By  Heaven  ! 
in  the  world's  range  there  does  not  breathe  a  man, 
Whose  brutal  nature  I  more  strove  to  soothe, 
"With  long  forbearance,  kindness,  courtesy, 
Than  his  who  fell  by  me.    But  he  disgraced  me, 
Stained  me  ! — Oh,  death  and  shame  !  the  world  looked  on, 
And  saw  this  sinewy  savage  strike  me  down  ; 
Rain  blows  upon  me,  drag  me  to  and  fro 
On  the  base  earth,  like  carrion.  Desperation, 
In  every  fibre  of  my  frame,  cried  vengeance  ! 
I  left  the  room,  which  he  had  quitted.  Chance, 
(Curse  on  the  chance  !)  while  boiling  with  my  wrongs, 
Thrust  me  against  him,  darkling,  in  the  street. 
I  stabbed  him  to  the  heart ;  and  my  oppressor 
Rolled  lifeless  at  my  foot !  [Crosses  to  l, 

Wil.  Oh,  mercy  on  me  ! 
How  could  this  deed  be  covered  1 

Sir  E.  Would  you  think  it  1 
E'en  at  the  moment  when  1  gave  the  blow, 
Butchered  a  fellow-creature  in  the  dark, 
1  had  all  good  men's  love.    But  my  disgrace, 


44 


THE  IRON  CHEST- 


[  Act  J I 


And  my  opponent's  death  thus  linked  with  it,  - 
Demanded  notice  of  the  magistracy. 
They  summoned  me,  as  friend  would  summon  friend, 
To  acts  of  import  and  communication. 
We  met;  and  'twas  resolved,  to  stifle  rumour, 
To  put  me  on  my  trial.    No  accuser, 
No  evidence  appeared,  to  urge  it  on  : 
'Twas  meant  to  clear  my  fame.    How  clear  it,  then  ? 
How  cover  it  1  you  say.    Why,  by  a  lie — 
Guilt's  offspring  and  its  guard !     L  taught  this  breast, 
Which  truth  once  made  her  throne,  to  forge  a  lie — 
This  tongue  to  utter  it;  rounded  a  tale, 
Smooth  as  a  seraph's  song  from  Satan's  mouth  ; 
So  well  compacted,  that  the  o'er-thronged  court 
Disturbed  cool  Justice  in  her  judgment-seat, 
By  shouting  "  Innocence!"  ere  I  had  finished. 
The  court  enlarged  me  ;  and  the  giddy  rabble 
Bone  me  in  triumph  home.    Ay,  look  upon  me! 
I  know  thy  sight  aches  at  me. 

Wil.  Heaven  forgive  me  ! 
It  may  be  wrong :  indeed,  I  pity  you. 

Sir  E.  I  disdain  all  pity — 
I  ask  no  consolation  !    Idle  boy  ! 
Think'st  thou  that  this  compulsive  confidence 
Was  given  to  move  thy  pity  ]    Love  of  fame 
(For  still  I  cling  to  it)  has  urged  me  thus 
To  quash  the  curious  mischief  in  its  birth  : 
Hurt  honour,  in  an  evil,  cursed  hour, 
Drove  me  to  murder — lying; — 'twould  again  I 
My  honesty — sweet  peace  of  mind — all,  all 
Are  bartered  for  a  name.    I  will  maintain  it 
Should  slander  whisper  o'er  my  sepulchre,  1 
And  my  soul's  agency  survive  in  death, 
I  could  embody  it  with  heaven's  lightning, 
And  the  hot  shaft  of  my  insulted  spirit 
Should  strike  the  blaster  of  my  memory 
Dead  in  the  church-yard  !    Boy,  I  would  not  kill  thee  ? 
Thy  rashness  and  discernment  threatened  danger; 
To  check  them,  there  was  no  way  left  but  this, 
Save  one — your  death.    You  shall  not  be  my  victim, 

Wil.  My  djath! — What!  take  my  life — my  life,  to 
prop 


Scene  IV.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


45 


This  empty  honour  ! 

Sir  E.  Empty  ! — Grovelling  fool ! 

Wil.  I  am  your  servant,  sir ;  child  of  your  bounty, 
And  know  my  obligation.    I  have  been 
Too  curious,  haply — 'tis  the  fault  of  youth  ; 
I  ne'er  meant  injury.    If  it  would  serve  you, 
I  would  lay  down  my  life — I'd  give  it  freely. 
Could  you,  then,  have  the  heart  to  rob  me  of  it  ? 
You  could  not — should  not. 

Sir  E.  How  ! 

Wil.  You  dare  not. 

Sir  E.  Dare  not ! 

Wil.  Some  hours  ago  you  durst  not.    Passion  moved 

you  ; 

Reflection  interposed,  and  held  your  arm. 
But,  should  reflection  prompt  you  to  attempt  it, 
My  innocence  would  give  me  strength  to  struggle, 
And  wrest  the  murderous  weapon  from  your  hand. 
How  would  you  look  to  find  a  peasant  boy 
Return  the  knife  you  levelled  at  his  heart, 
And  ask  you  which  in  heaven  would  show  the  best — 
A  rich  man's  honour,  or  a  poor  man's  honesty  ] 

Sir  E.  'Tis  plain  I  dare  not  take  your  life.  To  spare  ^t, 
I  have  endangered  mine.    But  dread  my  power ; 
You  know  not  its  extent.    Be  warned  in  time  ; 
Trifle  not  with  my  feelings.    Listen,  sir  : 
Myriads  of  engines,  which  my  secret  working 
Can  rouse  to  action,  now  encircle  you. 
Your  ruin  hangs  upon  a  thread ;  provoke  me, 
And  it  shall  fall  upon  you.    Dare  to  make 
The  slightest  movement  to  awake  my  fears, 
And  the  gaunt  criminal,  naked  and  stake-tied, 
Left  on  the  heath  to  blister  in  the  sun, 
Till  lingering  death  shall  end  his  agony, 
Compared  to  thee,  shall  seem  more  enviable 
Than  cherubs  to  the  damned  ! 

Wil.  Oh,  misery ! 
Discard  me,  sir  ;  I  must  be  hateful  to  you. 
Banish  me  hence  :  I  will  be  mute  as  death; 
But  let  me  quit  your  service. 

Sir  E.  Never  !    Fool ! 
To  buy  this  secret  you  have  sold  yourself. 


46 


THE   IRON  CHEST 


[Act  II 


Your  movements,  eyes,  and,  most  of  all,  you-r  breath, 

From  this  time  forth,  are  fettered  to  my  will. 

You  have  said,  truly,  you  are  hateful  to  me ; 

Yet  you  shall  feel  my  bounty  :  that  shall  flow, 

And  swell  your  fortunes  ;  but  my  inmost  soul 

Will  yearn  with  loathing  when — [A  knock,  r.  d.  f.]  Hark  ! 

some  one  knocks. 
Open  the  door.  f  Wilford  opens  the  door,  r.  f. 

Enter  Adam  Winterton. 

How  now,  Winterton  1  [Crosses  to  him. 

Did  you  knock  more  than  once  1   Speak — did  you  listen  1 
I  mean,  good  Adam,  did  you  wait — ay,  wait 
Long  at  the  door  here  1 

Win.  Bless  your  honour,  no  : 
You  are  too  good  to  let  the  old  man  wait. 

Sir  E.  What,  then,  our  talk  here — Wilford's,  here,  and 
mine, 

Did  not  detain  you  at  the  door  ? — Ha  !  did  it  1 

Win.  Not  half  a  second. 

Sir  E.  Oh  ! — Well,  what's  the  matter  % 

Win.  Captain  Fitzhazding,  sir,  entreats  your  company. 
I've  placed  another  flagon  on  the  table  ; 
Your  worship  knows  it — number  thirty-five  ; 
The  supernaculum. 

Sir  E.  Well,  well,  I  come. 
What,  has  he  been  alone  1 

Win.  No;  I've  been  with  him. 
Od  !  he's  a  merry  man,  and  does  so  jest ! 
He  calls  me  first  of  men,  'cause  my  name's  Adam. 
Well,  'tis  exceeding  pleasant,  by  St.  Thomas  ! 

*S*>  E.  Come,  Adam,  I'll  attend  the  captain.  Wilford, 
What  I  have  just  now  given  you  in  charge, 
Be  sure  to  keep  fast  locked.    I  shall  be  angry — 
Be  very  angry,  if  I  find  you  careless. 
Come,  Adam.  [Exit,  r.  d.  v.,  followed  hy  Winterton. 

Wil.  This  house  is  no  house  for  me  :  fly  I  will,  I  am 
resolved  ;  but  whither  %  His  threats  strike  terror  into 
me  ;  and  were  I  to  reach  the  pole,  I  doubt  whether  I 
bIi  )uld  elude  his  grasp.  But  to  live  here  a  slave — slave 
to  his  fears,  his  jealousies  !  Night  is  coming  on  :  dark- 
ness be  mj  friend !  for  I  will  forth  instantly.  The  thought 


Scene  V.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


47 


of  my  innocence  will  cheer  me,  as  I  wander  through  the 
gloom.  Oh  !  when  guilty  Ambition  writhes  upon  its 
couch,  why  should  barefoot  Integrity  repine,  though  its 
sweet  sleep  be  canopied  with  a  ragged  hovel.     [Exit,  hi 

Scene  V. — The  Inside  of  an  Ahbey,  in  ruins — part  of  it 
converted  into  a  habitation  for  Robbers — various  en- 
trances to  their  apartment,  through  the  broken  arches  of 
the  building,  fyc. — Nearly  dark. 

Enter  Judith  and  a  Boy,  l. 

Jud.  Well,  sirrah,  have  you  been  upon  the  scout  ]  Are 
any  of  our  gang  returning'? 

Boy.  No,  Judith,  not  a  soul. 

Jud.  The  rogues  tarry  thus  to  fret  me. 

Boy.  Why,  indeed,  Judith,  the  credit  of  your  cookery 
is  lost  among  thieves:  they  never  come  punctual  to  their 
meals. 

Jud.  No  tidings  of  Orson  yet  from  the  market-town  ? 

Boy.  I  have  seen  nothing  of  him. 

Jud.  Brat !  thou  dost  never  bring  me  good  news. 

Boy.  Judith,  you  are  ever  so  cross  with  me  ! 

Jud.  That  wretch,  Orson,  slights  my  love  of  late  ! — 
Hence,  you  hemp-seed,  hence  !  Get  to  the  broken  porch 
of  the  abbey,  and  watch  ;  'tis  all  you  are  good  for. 

Boy.  You  know  I  am  but  young  yet,  Judith  ;  but,  with 
good  instructions,  I  may  be  a  robber  in  time. 

Jud.  Away,  you  imp  !  you  will  never  reach  such  pre- 
ferment. [A  tuhistle  without,  r.]  So,  1  hear  some  of  our 
party.  [The  whistle  again — the  Boy  puts  his  fingers  in  his 
-mouth,  and  whistles  in  answer.]  Why  must  you  keep  your 
noise,  sirrah  1 

Boy.  Nay,  Judith,  'tis  one  of  the  first  steps  we  boys 
learn  in  the  profession.  I  shall  never  come  to  good  if  you 
check  me  so.  [Looki?ig  off,  r.  u.  e.]  Huzza  !  here  come 
three  ! 

Enter  Three  Robbers  through  the  broken  arches,  r.  u.  e. 

Jud.  So !  you  have  found  your  road  at  last.  A  mur- 
rain light  upon  you! — Is  it  thus  you  keep  your  hours  ] 

1st  Rob.  What,  hag  !  ever  at  this  trade — ever  grum- 
bling s 


48 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[ACT  II 


Jud.  I  have  reason  :  I  toil  to  no  credit ;  I  watch  with 
no  thanks.  I  trim  up  the  table  for  your  return,  and  no 
one  returns  in  due  time  to  notice  my  industry.  Your 
meat  is  scorched  to  cinders.  Rogues  !  would  it  were  poi- 
son for  you  ! 

1st  Rob.  [Aside.]  What  a  devil  in  petticoats  is  this  ! — 
I  never  knew  a  woman  turn  to  mischief  that  she  did  not 
undo  a  man  clean. 

Jud.  (c.)  Did  any  of  you  meet  Orson  on  your  way  1 

1st  Rob.  (l.  c.)  Ay,  there  the  hand  points.  When  that 
feVow  is  abroad,  you  are  more  savage  than  customary  ; 
acd  that  is  needless. 

2d  Rob.  (l.)  None  of  our  comrades  come  yet  l — They 
will  be  finely  soaked 

1st  Rob.  Ay,  the  rain  pours  like  a  spout  upon  the  ruins 
of  the  old  abbey-wall  here. 

Jud.  I'm  glad  on't :  may  it  drench  them,  and  breed 
agues  ! — 'Twill  teach  them  to  keep  time. 

1st  Rob.  Peace,  thou  abominable  railer !  A  man  had 
better  dwell  in  purgatory,  than  have  thee  in  his  habitation. 
Peace,  devil !  or  I'll  malse  thee  repent ! 

Jud.  You  ! — 'Tis  as  much  as  thy  life  is  worth  to  move 
my  spleen. 

1st  Rob.  What!  you  will  set  Orson,  your  champion, 
upon  me  1 

Jud.  Coward  !  he  should  not  disgrace  himself  by  chas- 
tising thee. 

1st  Rob.  [Drawing  his  sword.]  Death  and  thunder  ! 

Jud.  Ay,  attack  a  woman — do  !  it  suits  your  hen-heart- 
ed valour.    Assault  a  woman  ! 

1st  Rob.  Well,  passion  hurried  me  ;  but  I  have  a  re- 
spect for  the  soft  sex,  and  am  cool  again.  [Returns  his 
sword  to  the  scabbard.]  Come,  Judith,  be  friends  ;  nay, 
come,  do  ;  and  I  will  give  thee  a  farthingale  I  took  from 
a  lawyer's  widow. 

Jud.  Where  is  it  1 

1st  Rob.  You  shall  have  it. 

Jud.  Well,  T — [Music  zcithout,  r.]  Hark  ! 

2d  Rob.  Soft  !  I  think  I  hear  the  foot  of  a  comrade. 

MUSICAL  DIALOGUE  AND  CHORUS. — Judith  and  Robbers. 

[At  different  periods  of  the  music,  the  Robbers  enKer  through 
various  parts  of  the  ruins  in  groups. 


Scene  V.] 


THE  IKON  CHEST. 


49 


Listen ! — No  ;  it  is  the  owl, 

That  hoots  upon  the  mould'ring  tower. 
Hark  !  the  vain  beats — the  night  is  foul; 

Our  comrades  stay  beyond  their  hour. 
Listen ! 

All's  hushed  around  the  abbey- wall : 
Soft !  now  I  hear  a  robber's  call. 
Listen ! 

They  whistle ! — Answer  it ! — 'Tis  nigh  ! 

Again !— -A  comrade  comes  ! — 'Tis  I ! 

And  here  another  ! — And  here  another  I 

Who  comes  ? — A  brother  I    Who  comes  ? — A  it-other  ! 

Now  they  all  come  pouring  in, 

Our  jollity  will  soon  begin. 
Sturdy  partners,  all  appear. 
We're  here ! — And  here !— And  here—And  hex*e  I 

Thus  we  stout  freebooters  prowl, 

Then  meet  to  drain  the  flowing  bowl. 

Enter  Orson,  l.  u.  e.,  with  luggage  at  Ms  hack,  as  retumei 
from  market. 

1st  Rob.  See,  hither  comes  Orson  at  last.  He  walks 
in,  like  Plenty,  with  provision  on  his  shoulder. 

Jud.  (r.  c.)  Oh,  Orson  !  why  didst  tarry,  Orson  ? — I 
began  to  fear.  Thou  art  cold  and  damp.  Let  me  wring 
the  wet  from  thy  clothes.  Oh  !  my  heart  leaps  to  see 
thee. 

Ors.  (c.)  Stand  off!  This  hamper  has  been  wearisome 
enough  ;  I  want  not  thee  on  my  neck. 

Jud.  Villain  !  'tis  thus  you  ever  use  me !  I  can  re- 
venge!— I  can — Do  not,  dear  Orson — do  not  treat  me 
thus ! 

Ors.  Let  a  man  be  ever  so  sweet-tempered,  he  will 
meet  somewhat  to  sour  him.  I  have  been  vexed  to  mad- 
ness. 

2d  Rob.  (l.)  How  now,  Orson  1 — What  has  vexed  thee 
now  % 

Ors.  A  prize  has  slipt  through  my  fingers. 
3d  Rob.  (r.)  Ha  !— Marry,  how  1 

Ors.  I  met  a  straggling  knave  on  foot,  and  the  rogue 
resisted.  He  had  the  face  to  tell  me,  that  he  was  thrust 
on  the  world  to  seek  his  fortune,  and  that  the  little  he  had 
about  him  was  his  all.  Plague  on  the  provision  at  my 
back  !  I  had  no  time  to  rifle  him  ;  but  I  have  spoiled  him 
for  fortune-seeking,  I  warrant  him. 

E 


50 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  II. 


3d  Rob.  Orson,  you  are  ever  disobeying  our  captain's 
order  :  you  are  too  remorseless  and  bloody. 

Ors.  Take  heed,  then,  how  you  move  my  anger,  by  tell- 
ing me  on't.  The  affair  is  mine;  I  will  answer  to  the 
consequence.  [A  whistle  heard  without,  r.  u.  e. 

4th  Roh.  I  hear  our  captain's  signal.  Here  he  comes. 
Ha  !  he  is  leading  one  who  seems  wounded. 

Enter  Armstrong,  r.  u.  e.,  supporting  Wilford. 

Arm.  Gently,  good  fellow  ! — Come,  keep  a  good  heart. 

Wil.  You  are  very  kind  :  I  had  breathed  my  last  but 
for  your  care.     Whither  have  you  led  me  % 

4th  Rob.  Where  you  will  be  well  treated,  youngster. 
You  are  now  among  as  honourable  a  knot  of  men  as  ever 
cried  "Stand"  to  a  traveller. 

Wil.  How!  amiong  robbers  ] 

4th  Rob.  Why,  so  the  law's  cant  calls  us  gentlemen 
who  live  at  large. 

V/il.  So  ! — For  what  am  T  reserved  1 

Arm.  Fear  nothing;  you  are  safe  in  this  asylum.  Ju- 
dith, lead  him  in. 

Jud.  I  do  not  like  the  office.  You  are  ever  at  these 
tricks  ;  'twill  ruin  us  in  the  end.  What  have  we  to  do 
with  charity  1  But  come,  fellow,  since  it  must  be  so. — 
The  rogues  here  call  me  savage  ;  but  I  have  a  kindly 
heart,  for  all  that.  [Exit,  c.  f.,  leading  Wilford. 

Arm.  I  would  I  knew  which  of  you  had  done  this ! — 
Well,  time  must  discover  him  ;  for  he  who  had  brutality 
enough  to  commit  the  action,  can  scarcely  have  courage 
enough  to  confess  it. 

Ors.  (l.)  Courage,  captain,  is  a  quality,  I  take  it,  little 
wanted  by  any  here.    What  signify  words  1    I  did  it. 

Arm.  I  suspected  thee,  Orson.  'Tis  scarce  an  hour 
since  he  whom  thou  hast  wounded  quitted  the  service  of 
Sir  Edward  Mortimer,  in  the  forest  here;  and  inquiry 
will  doubtless  be  made. 

2d  Rob.  Nay,  then,  we  are  all  discovered. 

Arm.  Now  mark  what  thou  hast  done.  Thou  hast  en- 
dangered the  safety  of  our  party;  thou  hast  broken  my 
order  ('tis  not  the  first  time  by  many),  in  attacking  a  pas- 
senger; and  what  passenger'?  One  whose  unhappy  case 
should  have  claimed  thy  pity.    He  told  you  he  had  dis- 


Scene  \  .J 


THE  lUOx\  CHEST. 


pleased  liis  master,  left  the  house  of  comfort,  and,  with 
his  scanty  pittance,  was  wandering  round  the  world  to 
mend  his  fortune.  Like  a  butcher,  you  struck  the  forlorn 
boy  to*  the  earth,  and  left  him  to  languish  in  the  forest. — 
Would  any  of  our  brave  comrades  have  done  this  ] 
Robbers.  None!  none! 

Ann.  Comrades,  in  this  case  my  voice  is  single  ;  but  if 
it  have  any  weight,  this  brute,  this  Orson,  shall  be  thrust 
from  our  community,  which  he  has  disgraced.  Let  it  not 
be  said,  brothers,  while  want  drives  us  to  plunder,  that 
wantonness  prompts  us  to  butchery. 

Robbers.  Oh,  brave  captain  ! — Away  with  him  ! 

Ors.  You  had  better  ponder  on't,  ere  you  provoke  me. 

Arm.  Rascal !  do  you  mutter  threats  1    Begone  ! 

Ors.  Well,  if  I  must,  I  must.  I  was  ever  a  friend  to 
you  all ;  but  if  you  are  bent  on  turning  me  out,  why,  fare 
you  well. 

Robbers.  Ay,  ay  ! — Away !  away  ! 

Ors.  Farewell,  then.  [Exit,  l.  u.  e. 

Arm.  Come,  comrades,  think  no  more  of  this :  let  us 
drown  the  choler  we  have  felt  in  wine  and  revelry. 

FINALE. 

Jolly  friars  tippled  here, 

Ere  these  abbey- walls  had  crumbled ; 
Still  the  ruins  boast  good  cheer, 
Though  long  ago  the  cloisters  tumbled. 
The  monks  are  gone  : 

Well— well! 
That's  all  one ; 

Let's  ring  their  knell. 
Ding  dong !  ding  dong !  to  the  bald-pated  monk ! 
They  set  an  example, 
We'll  follow  the  sample, 
And  all  go  to  bed  most  religiously  drunk. 

Huzza !  huzza  .'—We'll  drink  and  we'll  sing, 

We'll  laugh  and  we'll  quaff, 
And  make  the  welkin  ring. 


END  OP  ACT  II. 


52 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  III 


ACT  III. 

Scene  i. — A  Boom  in  Sir  Edward  Mortimer's  Lodge 

Sir  Edward  Mortimer,  l.,  and  Helen,  r,,  discovered  on 
a  sofa,  c. 

Hel,  Sooth,  you  look  better  now,  indeed  you  do, — 
Much  better,  since,  upon  your  sudden  sickness, 
I  came  to  visit  you. 

Sir  E.  Thou'rt  a  sweet  flatterer  ! 

Hel.  Ne'er  trust  me,  then, 
If  I  do  flatter.    This  is  wilfulness : 
Thou  wilt  be  sick,  because  thou  wilt  be  sick. 
I'll  cure  you  of  this  fancy,  Mortimer. 

Sir  E.  And  what  wouldst  thou  prescribe  ] 

Hel.  I  would  distil 
Each  flower  that  lavish  happiness  produced 
Through  the  world's  paradise,  ere  disobedience 
Scattered  the  seeds  of  care  ;  then  mingle  each 
In  one  huge  cup  of  comfort  for  thee,  love, 
To  chase  away  thy  dulness.    Thou  shouldst  wanton 
Upon  the  wings  of  Time,  and  mock  his  flight, 
As  he  sailed  with  thee  tow'rd  eternity. 
I'd  have  each  hour,  each  minute  of  thy  life, 
A  golden  holiday  ;  and  should  a  cloud 
O'ercast  thee,  be  it  light  as  gossamer, 
That  Helen  might  disperse  it  with  her  breath, 
And  talk  thee  into  sunshine. 

Sir  E.  Sweet,  sweet  Helen  !  [27^y  ri.?e. 

Death,  softened  with  thy  voice,  might  dull  his  sting, 
And  steep  his  darts  in  balsam.    Oh,  my  Helen  ! 
These  warnings  which  that  grisly  monarch  sends, 
Forerunners  of  his  certain  visitation, 
Of  late,  are  frequent  with  me.    It  should  seem 
I  was  not  meant  to  live  long. 

Hel.  Oh,  Mortimer! 
I  could  not  talk  so  cruelly  to  you : 
I  would  not  pain  you  thus  for  worlds  ! 

Sir  E.  Nay,  come, 
I  meant  not  this.    I  did  not  mean  to  say 
There's  danger  now ;  but  'tis  the  privilege 


Scene  I.J 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


Of  sickness  to  be  grave,  and  moralize 
On  that  which  sickness  brings.    I  pr'ythee,  now 
Be  comforted.    Believe  me,  I  shall  mend ; 
I  feel  I  shall,  already. 

Hcl.  Do  you,  Mortimer  ] 
Do  you,  indeed,  feel  so  ] 

Sir  E.  Indeed,  I  do. 

Hel.  I  knew  you  would — I  said  it — did  I  not  1 
I  see  it  in  your  looks  now — you  are  better. 

Sir  E.  Scarce  possible,  so  suddenly. 

Hel.  Oh,  yes  : 
There  is  no  little  movement  of  your  face 
But  I  can  mark  on  the  instant — 'tis  my  study ; 
I  have  so  gazed  upon  it,  that  I  think 
I  can  interpret  every  turn  it  has, 
And  read  your  inmost  soul. 

Sir  E.  What] 

Hel.  Mercy  on  me  ! 
You  change  again. 

Sir  E.  'Twas  nothing  ;  do  not  fear  : 
These  little  shocks  are  usual — 'twill  not  last. 

Hcl.  Would  you  could  shake  them  off! 

Sir  E.  I  would  1  could  ! 

Hel.  I  pr'ythee,  now,  endeavour.    This  young  man 
This  boy — this  Wilford,  he  has  been  ungrateful; 
But  do  not  let  his  baseness  wear  you  thus  ; — 
E'en  let  him  go. 

Sir  E.  I'll  hunt  him  through  the  world  ! 

Hel.  Why,  look  you  there,  now! — Pray  be  calm. 

Sir  E.  Well,  well; 
I  am  too  boisterous.    'Tis  my  unhappiness 
To  seem  most  harsh  where  I  would  show  most  kind 
The  world  has  made  me  peevish  :  this  same  boy 
Has  somewhat  moved  me. 

Hel.  He's  beneath  your  care. 
Seek  him  not  now,  to  punish  him.    Poor  wretch ! 
He  carries  that  away  within  his  breast, 
Which  will  embitter  all  his  life  to  come, 
And  make  him  curse  the  knowledge  on't. 

Sir  E.  The  knowledge  ! 
Has  he,  then,  breathed — Carries  within  his  breast ! 
What  does  he  know  1 


54 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[ACT  III, 


Hel.  His  own  ingratitude. 
Sir  E.  Oh  !  very  true. 
Hel.  Then  leave  him  to  his  conscience. 
Believe  me,  love, 

There  is  no  earthly  punishment  so  great, 

To  scourge  an  evil  act,  as  man's  own  conscience, 

To  tell  him  he  is  guilty. 

Sir  E.  'Tis  a  hell ! 
I  pray  you  talk  no  more  on't.    I  am  weak  : 
I  did  not  sleep  last  night. 

Hel.  Would  you  sleep  now  1 

Sir  E.  No,  Helen,  no,    I  tire  thy  patient  sweetness, 
Hel.  Tire  me  ! — Nay,  that  you  do  not.    You  forget 
How  often  I  have  sat  by  you,  and  watched, 
Fanning  the  busy  summer  flies  away, 
Lest  they  should  break  your  slumbers.    [Looking  off]  r. 
Who  comes  here  1 

[Sir  Edward  retires  to  the  sofa,  c. 

Enter  Adam  Winterton,  r. 

What,  Winterton  ! — How  dost  thou,  old  acquaintance  1 
How  dost  thou,  Adam  1 

Win.  Bless  your  goodness,  well. 
Is  my  good  master  better  1 

Hel.  Somewhat,  Adam. 

Win.  Now,  by  our  lady,  I  rejoice  to  hear  it ! 
I  have  a  message — 

Hel.  Oh,  no  business  now  ! 

Win.  Nay,  so  I  said.    Quoth  I,  "  His  honour's  sick- 
Perilous  sick."    But  the  rogue  pressed  and  pressed, 
1  could  refuse  no  longer. 

Hel.  Who  has  thus  importuned  you  1 

Win.  To  say  the  truth,  a  most  ill-favoured  varlet; 
But  he  will  speak  to  none  but  to  his  worship. 
I  think  'tis  forest  business. 

Sir  E.  Oh,  not  now  ; 
Another  time — to-morrow — when  he  will. 
I  am  unfit ;  they  tease  me  ! 

Win.  E'en  as  you  please,  your  worship.     I  ehoulu 
think, 

From  what  he  dropped,  he  can  give  some  account 
Of  the  poor  boy. 


Scene  I.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


55 


Sir       [Starting  up,  and  crossing  to  Whterton.]  Of 
Wilford  ] 

Win.  Troth,  I  think  so. 
The  knave  is  shy,  but  Adam  has  a  head. 

Sir  E.  Quick ! — Send  him  hither  on  the  instant ! — 
Haste  ! — 
Fly,  Adam,  fly  ! 

Win.  Well,  now,  it  glads  my  heart 
To  hear  you  speak  so  briskly. 

Sir  E.  Well,  despatch. 

Win.  I  go.    Heaven  bless  you  both  ! — Heaven  send 
you  well, 

And  merry  days  may  come  again  !  [Exit,  r. 

Hel.  I  fear  this  business  may  distract  you,  Mortimer : 
I  would  you  would  defer  it  till  to-morrow. 

Sir  E.  Not  so,  sweet. — Do  not  fear. — I  pr'ythee,  now, 
Let  me  have  way  in  this.    Retire  awhile; 
Anon  I'll  come  to  thee. 

Hel,  Pray,  now,  be  careful : 
I  dread  these  agitations.    Pray,  keep  calm  ; 
Now  do  not  tarry  long.    Adieu,  my  Mortimer ! 

SirE.  Farewell,  awhile,  sweet ! 

Hel.  Since  it  must  be  so,  farewell !  [Exit,  l. 

Sir  E.  Dear,  simple  innocence !  thy  words  of  comfort 
Pour  oil  upon  my  fires.    Meth ought  her  eye, 
When  first  she  spake  of  conscience,  shot  a  glance 
Like  her  dead  uncle  on  me.    Well,  for  Wilford  : 
That  slave  can  play  the  Parthian  with  my  fame, 
And  wound  it  while  he  flies.    Bring  him  before  me — 
Place  me  the  runagate  within  my  gripe, 
And  I  will  plant  my  honour  on  its  base 
Firmer  than  adamant,  though  hell  and  death 
Should  moat  the  work  with  blood  !    Oh  !  how  will  sin 
Engender  sin — throw  guilt  upon  the  soul, 
And,  like  a  rock  dashed  on  the  troubled  lake, 
Twill  form  its  circles,  round  succeeding  round, 
Each  wider  than  the — 

Enter  Orson,  r. 

How  now  ] — What's  your  business  1 

Ors.  Part  with  your  office  in  the  forest ;  part 
Concerns  yourself  in  private. 


56 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  III. 


Sir  E.  How  myself? 

Ors.  Touching  a  servant  of  your  house—  *a  lad, 
Whose  heels,  I  find,  were  nimbler  than  his  duty. 

Sir  E.  Speak — what  of  him  ?     Quick  :  know  you 
where  he  is  1 
Canst  bring  me  to  him  1 

Ors.  To  the  very  spot. 

Sir  E.  Do  it. 

Ors.  Nay — softly. 

Sir  E.  I'll  reward  you  amply— 
Insure  your  fortunes. 

Ors.  First  insure  my  neck  ; 
'Twill  do  me  little  good  else.    I've  no  heirs; 
And,  when  I  die,  'tis  like  the  law  will  bury  me 
At  its  own  charge. 

Sir  E.  Be  brief,  and  to  your  purpose. 

Ors.  Then,  to  the  business  which  concerns  your  office, 
Here,  in  the  forest. 

Sir  E.  Nay,  of  that  anon. 
First,  of  rhy  servant. 

Ors.  Well,  e'en  as  you  please. 
'Tis  no  rare  thing  :  let  public  duty  wait, 
Till  private  interests  are  settled.  But 
My  story  is  a  chain  :  take  all  together. 
'Twill  not  unlink. 

Sir  E.  Be  quick,  then.    While  we  talk, 
This  slave  escapes  me. 

Ors.  Little  fear  of  that : 
He's  in  no  plight  to  journey  far  to-day. 

Sir  E.  Where  is  he  hid  1 

Ors.  Hard  by — with  robbers. 

Sir  E.  Robbers  ! 
Aside.]  Well,  I'm  glad  on't;  'twill  suit  my  purpose  beat, 
Aloud.]  What,  has  he  turned  to  plunder  1 

Ors.  No,  not  so; 
Plunder  has  turned  to  him.    He  was  knocked  down 
Last  night  here  in  the  forest,  flat  and  sprawling ; 
And  the  milk-hearted  captain  of  our  gang 
Has  sheltered  him. 

Sir  E.  It  seems,  then,  thou'rt  a  thief. 

Ors.  I  served  in  the  profession,  but  last  night 
The  scurvy  rogues  cashiered  me.    'Twas  a  plot 


6a  <e  II.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


57 


Tt  •   u.in  a  poor  fellow  in  his  calling, 
A,  i  i  take  away  my  means  of  getting  bread. 
J  ;  me  r.ow  in  revenge  :  I'll  hang  my  comrades 
If   ;lust:  rs  on  the  forest's  oak,  like  acorns. 

Sir  E,  Where  lies  their  haunt  ] 

Ors.  Give  me  your  honour  first. 

Sir  E.  I  pledge  it,  for  your  safety. 

Ors.  Send  your  officers 
To  the  old  abbey  ruins  ;  you  will  find 
$  s  bold  a  gang  as  e'er  infested  woods, 
/  nd  fattened  upon  pillage. 

Sir  E.  What !  so  near  me  1 
'  a  some  few  minutes,  then,  he's  mine!  [Crossing  to  r., 

and  calling.]  Ho  !  Winterton  ! 
i  <row  for  his  lurking  place  :  hope  dawns  again  ! 
|  To  Orson.]  Remain  you  here  ;  I  may  have  work  for  you. 
J  Aside]  Oh,  I  will  weave  a  web  so  intricate 
)  W  this  base  insect — so  entangle  him  ! 
)  Calling.]  Why,  Winterton  ! — Thou  jewel,  Reputation  ! 
Let  me  secure  thee,  bright  and  spotless,  now, 
And  this  weak,  care-worn  body's  dissolution 
Will  cheaply  pay  the  purchase  !    Winterton  !    [Exit,  r. 

Ors.  There  may  be  danger  in  my  stay  here;  1  will  e'en 
slink  off  in  the  confusion  I  have  laised.  I  value  not  re- 
ward :  I  hang  all  my  acquaintance,  and  that  shall  content 
me.  [Exit,  r. 

Scene  II. — A  Hall  in  the  Lodge. 
Enter  Fitzharding,  l. 

Fitz.  Rare  scuttling  tow'rd  !  This  lodge  is  little  Babel, 
And     leen  and  Sickness  are  the  household  gods 
In  this,  my  brother's  castle  of  confusion. 
The  Lu3  and  cry  is  up.    I  am  half  tempted 
To  w'sli  the  game  too  nimble  for  the  dogs, 
That  hunt  him  at  the  heels.    Wilford  dishonest ! 
I'll  ne'er  trust  looks  again.    I'll  mix  with  none 
In  future  but  the  ugly  ;  honest  men, 
Who  can  out-grin  a  griffin,  or  the  head 
Carved  on  the  prow  of  the  good  ship,  the  Gorgon. 
I'm  for  carbuncled,  weather-beaten  faces, 
That  frighten  little  children,  and  might  serve 


58 


THIS  IRON  CHEST. 


TAct  111 


For  knockers  to  hell  gates. 

Enter  Samson  Rawbold,  r. 

Now,  who  are  you  1 

Sa??i.  Head  serving-man  to  Madam  Helen,  sir. 

Fitz.  Well,  I  may  talk  to  thee  ;  for  thou  dost  answer 
To  the  description  of  the  sort  of  men 
I  have  resolved  to  live  with. 

Sam.  I  am  proud,  sir, 
To  find  I  have  your  countenance. 

Fitz.  Canst  tell  me. 
The  news  of  Wilford  ? 

Sam.  He  is  turned  a  rogue,  sir — 
An  errant  knave,  sir.    'Tis  a  rare  thing  now 
To  find  an  honest  servant ;  we  are  scarce. 

Fitz.  Where  lies  the  abbey  where  they  go  to  seek  him  t 
Dost  know  it  ] 

Sam.  Marry,  do  I,  in  the  dark. 
I  have  stood  near  it  many  a  time  in  winter, 
To  watch  the  hares  by  moonlight. 

Fitz.  A  cold  pastime  ! 

Sam.  Ay,  sir,  'twas  killing  work ;  I've  left  it  off. 

Fitz.  Think  you  they  will  be  back  soon  ] 

Sam.  On  the  instant ; 
It  is  hard  by,  sir.    Hark !  I  hear  their  horses. 
They  are  returned,  I  warrant. 

Fitz.  Run  you,  fellow  ; 
If  Wilford's  taken,  send  him  here  to  me. 

Sam.  Why,  he's  a  rogue,  sir  :  would  your  worship 
stoop 

To  parley  with  a  rogue  % 

Fitz.  Friend,  I  would  stoop 
To  prop  a  sinking  man  that's  called  a  rogue, 
And  count  him  innocent  till  he's  found  guilty. 
I  learned  it  from  our  English  laws,  where  Mercy 
Models  the  weights  that  fill  the  scales  of  Justice, 
And  Charity,  when  Wisdom  gives  her  sentence, 
Stands  by  to  prompt  her.    Till  detection  comes, 
I  side  with  the  accused. 

Sam.  Would  I  had  known 
Your  worship  sooner  ! — You're  a  friend,  indeed ! 
All  undiscovered  rogues  are  bound  to  pray  for  you; 


Scene  II.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


So,  Heaven  bless  you  ! 

Fitz.  W ell,  well ;  bustle — stir ; 
Do  as  I  bid  thee. 

Sam.  Ay,  sir ;  I  shall  lean 
Upon  your  worship  in  my  time  of  need. 
Heaven  reward  you !  [J^'tfe.]  Here's  a  friend  to  make 

[Exit,  L 

Fitz.  I  have  a  kind  of  movement  still  for  Wilford 
I  cannot  conquer.    What  can  be  this  charge 
Sir  Edward  brings  against  him  %    Should  the  boy 
Prove  guilty  !    Well,  why  should  I  pity  guilt  1 
Philosophers  would  call  me  driveller.    Let  them. 
I  cannot  hoop  my  heart  about  with  iron, 
Like  an  old  beer-butt.    I  would  have  the  vessel 
What  some  call  weak — I'd  have  it  ooze  a  little. 
Better  compassion  should  be  set  abroach, 
Till  it  run  waste,  than  let  a  system-monger 
Bung  it  with  logic  ;  or  a  trencher-cap 
Bawl  out  his  ethics  on  it,  till  his  thunder 
Turns  all  the  liquor  sour.    So  !  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Wilford,  l. 

Wil.  I  am  informed  it  is  your  pleasure,  sir, 
To  speak  with  me. 

Fitz.  Ay,  Wilford.    I  am  sorry — 
Faith,  very  sorry,  you  and  1  meet  thus. 
How  could  you  quit  my  brother  thus  abruptly  1 

Wil.  I  was  unfit  to  serve  him,  sir. 

Fitz.  Unfit ! 

Wil.  I  was  unhappy,  sir.    I  fled  a  house 
Where  certain  misery  awaited  me, 
While  I  was  doomed  to  dwell  in't. 

Fitz.  Misery  ! 
What  was  this  certain  misery  ] 

Wil.  Your  pardon ;  I  never  will  divulge. 

Fitz.  Indeed  ! 

Wil.  No,  never. 
Pray,  do  not  press  me.    All  that  1  can  say 
Is,  that  I  have  a  strong  and  rooted  reason, 
Which  has  resolved  me.    'Twere  impossible 
I  should  be  tranquil  here  :  I  feel  it,  sir, 
A  duty  to  myself,  to  quit  this  roof. 


60 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  ID 


Fitz.  Hark  ye,  young  man  :  this  smacks  of  mystery, 
And  now  looks  foully.    Truth  and  innocence  „ 
Walk  round  the  world  in  native  nakedness, 
But  guilt  is  cloaked. 

Wil.  Whate'er  the  prejudice 
My  conduct  conjures  up,  I  must  submit. 

Fitz.  'Twere  better,  now,  you  conjurec   up  your 
friends  ; 

For  I  must  tell  you — No,  there  is  no  need  : 
You  learned  it,  doubtless,  on  the  way,  and  know 
The  danger  you  now  stand  in. 

Wil.  Danger,  sir  ! 
What  % — How  ] — I  have  learned  nothing,  sir  :  my  guides 
Dragged  me  in  silence  hither. 

Fitz.  Then  'tis  fit 
I  put  you  on  your  guard.    It  grieves  me,  Wilford, 
To  say  there  is  a  heavy  charge  against  you, 
Which,  as  I  gather,  may  affect  your  life. 

Wil,  Mine  ! — Oh,  good  Heaven  ! 

Fitz.  Pray  be  calm  ;  for,  soon, 
Here,  in  the  face  of  all  his  family, 
My  brother  will  accuse  you. 

Wil.  He  !— What,  he  ?— 
He  accuse  me  !    Oh,  monstrous  !    Oh,  look  down, 
You  who  can  read  men's  hearts  ! — A  charge  against  me  ! 
[Much  agitated,]  Ha  !  ha  ! — I'm  innocent !  I'm  innocent! 

Fitz.  Collect  your  firmness  ;  you  will  need  it  all. 

Wil.  I  shall,  indeed.    I  pray  you,  tell  me,  sir, 
What  is  the  charge  1 

Fitz.  I  do  not  know  its  purport  ; 
I  would  not  hear  on't ;  for  on  my  voice  rests 
The  issue  of  this  business  ;  and  a  judge 
Should  come  unbiassed  to  his  office.  Wilford, 
Were  twenty  brothers  waiting  my  award, 
You  should  have  even  and  impartial  justice. 
Farewell ;  and  may  you  prosper'?  [Exit,  it. 

Wil.  Let  me  recall  my  actions.  My  breast  is  unclog 
ged  with  crime  ;  then  why  should  I  fear]  Let  him  in- 
flict his  menaces  upon  me  in  secret;  he  shall  not,  cannot, 
touch  my  good  name. 

Enter  Barbara  Rawbold,  l. 
Bar.  [Falling  on  Jiis  necl\\  Oh,  Wilford! 


S<TENE  II.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


61 


Wilt  Barbara  ! — At  such  a  time,  too  ! 
Bar.  To  be  brought  back  thus,  Wilford  !  and  to  go 
away  without  seeing  me — without  thinking  of*  me  ! 

WiL  It  was  not  so  :  I  was  hastening  to  your  cottage, 
Barbara,  when  a  ruffian  in  the  forest  encountered  and 
wounded  me. 

Bar.  Wounded  you  ! 

WU.  When  I  was  dragged  hither,  the  whole  troop  es- 
caped, or  they  had  vouched  for  the  truth  on't. 

Bar.  Bethink  you,  Wilford :  the  time  is  short ;  I  know 
your  heart  is  good;  but  if,  in  a  hasty  moment,  you  have 
done  aught  to  wrong  Sir  Edward,  throw  yourself  on  his 
mercy — sue  for  pardon. 

Wil.  For  pardon  ! — I  shall  go  mad  !  Pardon  ! — I  am 
innocent — Heaven  knows  I  am  innocent ! 

Bar.  Heaven  be  thanked  !  The  family  is  all  summon- 
ed.   Oh,  Wilford  !  my  spirits  sink  within  me  ! 

Wil.  I  am  now  but  a  sorry  comforter.  Be  of  good 
cheer;  I  go  armed  in  honesty,  Barbara.  This  charge  is 
to  be  open  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  and  of  the  laws  ;  then 
wherefore  should  I  fear  %  I  am  native  of  a  happy  soil, 
where  justice  guards  equally  the  life  of  its  richest  and 
poorest  inhabitant.  [Exit,  it. 

Bar.  Alas  !  I  tremble  for  his  safety.  Should  they  tear 
him  from  me ! 

SONG. — Barbara  Rawdold. 

Down  by  the  river  there  grows  a  green  willow, 

Sing  ail  for  my  true  love,  my  true  love,  O  ! 
I'll  weep  out  the  night  there,  the  bank  for  my  pillow, 

And  all  for  my  true  love,  my  true  love,  0  ! 
When  bleak  blows  the  wind,  and  tempests  are  beating, 
I'll  count  all  the  clouds  as  I  mark  them  retreating ; 
For  true  lovers'  joys,  well-a-day !  are  as  fleeting. 

Sing  O  for  my  true  love,  &c. 
Maids,  come  in  pity,  when  I  am  departed, 

Sing  all  for  my  true  love,  &c. 
When  dead  on  the  bank  I  am  found,  broken-hearted, 

And  all  for  my  true  love,  &c. 
Make  me  a  grave,  all  while  the  wind's  blowing, 
Close  to  the  stream,  where  my  tears  once  were  flowing 
And  over  my  corse  keep  the  green  willow  growing. 

5Tis  all  for  my  tine  love,  &c. 

[Exit,  l. 

E 


62 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[Aci  III 


Scene  III. — An  Apartment  in  the  Lodge  —  Table, 
chairs,  Sfc. 

Fitzharding,  l.,  Wilford,  it.,  and  various  Domestics,  he- 

hind,  discovered. 

Fitz.  Is  not  Sir  Edward  coming  1    Oh,  here  he  is. 
Enter  Sir  Edward  Mortimer,  l 
Now,  brother  ;  you  look  pale, 

And  faint  with  sickness.    Here's  a  chair.  [Sits,  l. 

Sir  E.  (c.)  No  matter ;  to  our  business,  brother.— 
Wilford, 

You  may  well  guess  the  struggle  I  endure 
To  place  you  here  the  mark  of  accusation. 
I  gave  you  ample  warning;  cautioned  you, 
W  hen  many  might  have  scourged  ;  and  even  now, 
While  I  stand  here  to  crush  you — ay,  to  crush  you, 
My  heart  bleeds  drops  of  pity  for  your  youth, 
Whose  rashness  plucks  the  red  destruction  down, 
And  pulls  the  bolt  upon  you. 

Wil.  (r.)  You  know  best 
The  movements  of  your  heart,  sir.    Man  is  blind, 
And  cannot  read  them  ;  but  there  is  a  Judge, 
To  whose  all-seeking  eye  our  inmost  thoughts 
Lie  open.    Think  to  Him  you  now  appeal. 
Omniscience  keeps  Heaven's  register  ; 
And,  soon  or  late,  when  Time  unfolds  the  book, 
Our  trembling  souls  must  answer  to  the  record, 
And  meet  their  due  reward  or  punishment. 

Fitz.  Now  to  the  point,  1  pray  you. 

Sir  E.  Thus  it  is,  then. 
I  do  suspect — By  Heaven!  the  story  lingers, 
Like  poison,  on  my  tongue  ;  but  he  will  force  it. 

Fitz.  What  is  it  you  suspect  ? 

Sir  E.  That  he  has — robbed  me  ! 

Wil.  Robbed  !— Oh,  horrible! 

Fitz.  Pray,  tell  me,  brother, 
How  ground  you  this  suspicion  % 

Sir  E.  Briefly,  thus  : 
You  may  have  noticed  in  my  library 
A  chest. — [  Wilford  starts.]  You  see  he  changes  at  the 
word. 


Scene  III.] 


THE   IRON  CHEST. 


63 


WU.  [Aside.]  And  well  I  may  ! 

Sir  E.  Where  I  have  told  you,  brother, 
The  writings  which  concern  our  family, 
With  jewels,  cash,  and  other  articles 
Of  no  mean  value,  were  deposited. 

Fitz.  You  oftentimes  have  said  so. 

Sir  E.  Yesterday, 
Chance  called  me  suddenly  away.    I  left 
The  key  in't;  but  as  suddenly  returned, 
And  found  this  Wilford 
Fixed  o'er  the  chest,  upon  his  knees,  intent, 
As  now  I  think,  on  plunder.  Confusion 
Shook  his  young  joints  as  he  let  fall  the  lid, 
And  gave  me  back  the  key. 

Fitz.  Did  you  not  search 
Your  papers  on  the  instant  1 

Sir  E.  No  :  for,  first, 
(Habit  so  long  had  fixed  my  confidence) 
I  deemed  it  boyish  curiosity  ; 

But  told  him  this  would  meet  my  further  question. 
And,  at  that  moment,  came  a  servant  in, 
To  say  you  were  arrived.    He  must  have  marked 
Our  mixed  emotion. 

Fitz.  Is  that  servant  here  1 

Gregory.  \Coming  down,  l.]  'Twas  T,  sir. 

Sir  E.  Was  it  you  ]    Well,  saw  you  aught 
To  challenge  your  attention  ] 

Gre.  Sir,  I  did. 
Wilford  was  pale  and  trembling ;  and  our  master 
Gave  him  a  look,  as  if  t' would  pierce  him  through, 
And  cried,  "  Remember  !"    Then  he  trembled  more  ; 
And  we  both  quitted  him. 

Sir  E.  \To  Fitzharding.]  When  first  we  met, 
You  found  me  somewhat  rufiled. 

Fitz.  'Tis  most  true. 

Sir  E.  But  somewhat  more,  when,  afterwards,  I  saw 
Wilford  conversing  with  you  ;  like  a  snake, 
Sunned  by  your  looks,  and  basking  in  your  favour. 
I  bade  him  quit  the  room  with  indignation, 
And  wait  my  coming  in  the  library. 

Fitz.  I  witnessed  that,  with  wonder. 

Sir  E.  Oh,  good  brother  1 


64 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  III 


You  little  thought,  while  you  so  gently  schooled  me 
For  my  harsh  bearing  toward  him,  on  what  ground 
That  harshness  rested.    I  had  made  my  search 
In  the  brief  interval  of  absence  from  you, 
And  found  my  property  had  vanished. 

Fitz.  Well, 
You  met  him  in  the  library  1 

Sir  E.  [Rising.]  Oh,  never 
Can  he  forget  that  solemn  interview  ! 

Wil.  Ay,  speak  to  that :  it  was  a  solemn  interview ! 

Sir  E.  Observe,  he  does  acknowledge  that  we  met. 
Guilt  was  my  theme  :  he  cannot  now  deny  it. 

Wil.  It  was  a  theme  of — [Checking  himself.]  No  ! 

Sir  E.  He  pleaded  innocence  ; 
While  every  word  he  spake  belied  his  features, 
And  mocked  his  protestation. 

Fitz.  What  said  you  to  him  ? 

Sir  E.  "  Regulate  your  life 
In  future  better.    I  now  spare  your  youth, 
But  dare  not  to  proceed.    All  I  exact, 
('Tis  a  soft  penance)  that  you  tarry  here  ; 
Attempt  not  flight : 

Flight  ripens  all  my  doubt  to  certainty, 

And  justice  to  the  world  unlocks  my  tongue." 

He  fled,  and  I  arraign  him. 

Fitz.  [Rising,  and  coming  down,  l.]  Trust  me,  brother, 
This  charge  is  staggering  ;  yet  accidents 
Sometimes  combine  to  cast  a  shade  of  doubt 
Upon  the  innocent.    May  it  be  so  here  ! 
Here  is  his  trunk  :  'twas  brought  here  at  my  order. 
'Tis  fit  it  be  inspected. 

Wil,  Take  the  key — 
E'en  take  it  freely.    You'll  find  little  there 
I  value,  save  a  locket,  which  my  mother 
Gave  me  upon  her  death-bed  ;  and  she  added 
Her  blessing  to't.    Perhaps  her  spirit  now 
Is  grieving  for  my  injuries. 

Fitz.  [Crossing,  and  unlocking  the  box.]  How  now  ?— 
What's  here  ] 
The  very  watch  Sir  Edward's  father  wore, 
And  here  our  mother's  jewels  ! 

Wil.  I  am  innocent  ! 


Scene  III.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


65 


Just  heaven  hear  me — I  am  innocent ! 

[Sir  Edivard  Mortimer  sits,  r.  c. 

Fitz.  Make  it  appear  so.  [Pointing  to  the  trunk.]  But 
look  there  !  look  there  ! 

Wil.  Do  you  not  know-— 

Sir  E.  What  ? 

JVil.  'Tisno  matter,  sir; 
But  I  could  swear — 

Sir  E.  [Rising.]  Nay,  Wilford,  pause  awhile : 
Reflect  that  oaths  are  sacred.    Weigh  the  force 
Of  these  asseverations — mark  it  well : 
"  I  swear,  by  all  the  ties  that  bind  a  man, 
Divine  or  human  1"    Think  on  that,  and  shudder. 

Wil.  [Aside.]  The  very  words  I  uttered  ! — I  am  tongue- 
tied! 

Fitz.  Wilford,  if  there  be  aught  that  you  can  argue 
To  clear  yourself,  advance  it. 

Wil.  Oh  !  I  could— 
I  could  say  much,  but  must  not — no,  I  will  not ! 
Do  as  you  please.    I  have  no  friend — no  witness, 
Save  my  accuser.    Did  he  not — pray,  ask  him — 
Did  he  not  menace,  in  his  pride  of  power, 
To  blast  my  name,  and  crush  my  innocence  ? 

Fitz.  What  do  you  answer,  sir  1 

Sir  E.  I  answer,  no. 
More  were  superfluous,  when  a  criminal 
Opposes  empty  volubility 
To  circumstantial  charge.    A  stedfast  brow 
Repels  not  fact,  nor  can  invalidate 

These  dumb,  [Pointing  to  the  trunh,  l.  c.J  but  damning, 
witnesses  before  him. 

Wil.  By  the  just  Power  that  rules  us,  I  am  ignorant 
How  they  came  there  ! — But  'tis  my  firm  belief, 
You  placed  them  there  to  sink  me. 

Fitz.  Oh,  too  much  ! 
You  steel  men's  hearts  against  you.    [To  the  Servants) 

Call  the  officers  : 
He  shall  meet  punishment.     [  The  Servants  are  going,  r. 

Sir  E.  Hold  !  [Seating  himself,  r.]  Pray  you,  hold. 
Justice  has  thus  far  struggled  with  my  pity, 
To  do  an  act  of  duty  to  the  world. 
[  would  unmask  a  hypocrite — lay  bare 


66 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[ACT  III 


The  front  of  guilt,  that  men  may  see  and  shun"  it. 
'Tis  done,  and  I  will  now  proceed  no  further. 

Fitz.  Look  ye,  brother ;  this  act 
Ts  so  begrimed  with  black,  ungrateful  malice, 
That  I  insist  on  justice.    Fly,  knaves — run  ! 
And  let  him  be  secured.  [Exeunt  Servants,  r.]  You  tarry 
here.  [To  Wilford. 

Sir  E.  I  will  not  have  it  thus. 
Fitz,  You  must — you  shall ! 
Does  not  this  rouse  you,  too  %    Look  on  these  jewels  ; 
Look  at  this  picture — 'twas  our  mother's.  Stay, 
Let  me  inspect  this  nearer.  [Examining  the  trunk.]  What 

are  here  % 
Parchments  ! 

Sir  E.  Oh,  look  no  further.    They  are  deeds, 
Which,  in  his  haste,  no  doubt,  he  crowded  there, 
Not  knowing  what,  to  look  o'er  at  his  leisure. 
Family  deeds  :  they  all  were  in  my  chest. 

Wil.  [Aside]  Oh,  'tis  deep  laid !    These,  too,  to  give 
a  colour! 

Fitz.  What  have  we  here  ?    Here  is  a  paper 
Of  curious  enfolding;  slipt,  as  'twere, 
By  chance  within  another.    This  may  be 
Of  note  upon  his  trial.    What's  this  drops  1 
A  knife,  it  seems. 

Sir  E.  [Starting  up.\  What .' 

Fitz.  Marks  of  blood  upon  it ! 

Sir  E.  Touch  it  not !  throw  it  back  !  bury  it  !  sink  it ! 
Oh,  carelessness  and  haste  !    Give  me  that  paper ! 
Darkness  and  hell ! — Give  back  the  paper ! 

[Sir  Edward  rushes  down,  r.,  and  attempts  to  snatch 
it —  Wilford  runs  between  the  two  brothers,  falls  on 
his  hnees,  and  prevents  him,  clinging  to  Fitzharding. 
Wil.  [Rapidh/.]  No! 
I  see — I  see  !    Preserve  it :  you  are  judge. 
My  innocence — my  life,  rests  on  it ! 

Sir  E.  Devils! 
Foil  me  at  my  own  game  !    Fate  !  [Laughing  hysterical* 

ly.]  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
Sport,  Lucifer  !    He  struck  me — 

[Mortimer  is  fainting  and  falling — Wi/ford  runs  and 
catches  him. 


Scene  111.] 


THE  IRON  CHEST. 


67 


Wil  (c.)  I'll  support  him. 
Read  !  read  !  read  ! 

Fitz.  What  is  this  1    My  mind  misgives  ir\*  : 
It  is  my  brother's  hand.  [Reading.]  "  To  be  destroyed, 

before  my  death. 
Narrative  of  my  murder  of- — "    Oh,  great  Heaven  ! 
[Reading.]  "  If  ere  I  die,  my  guilt  should  be  disclosed. 
May  this  contribute  to  redeem  the  wreck 
Of  my  lost  honour  /"    I  am  horror-struck  ! 

Wil.  Plain — plain  !    Stay  !  he  revives. 

Sir  E.  What  has  been — Soft  ! 
I  have  been  wandering  with  the  damned,  sure  !  Brother  ! 
And — ay,  'tis  Wilford  !    Oh  !  thought  flashes  on  me 
Like  lightning  ! — I  am  brain-scorched  ! — Give  me  leave  ; 
I  will  speak — soon  I  will — a  little  yet ! — 
Come  hither,  boy — wronged  boy  !    Oh,  Wilford  !  Wil- 
ford ! 

[Bursts  into  tears,  and,  falls  on  Wilford' 's  neck. 
Wil.  Be  firm,  sir — pray,  be  firm  !     My  heart  bleeds 
for  you — 

Warms  for  you  !    Oh  !  all  your  former  charity 
To  your  poor  boy  is  in  my  mind  ; — still,  still 
I  see  my  benefactor. 

Sir  E.  Well,  I  will— 
I  will  be  firm  :  one  struggle,  and  'tis  over. 
I  have  most  foully  wronged  you.    Ere  I  die, 
And  I  feel  death-struck,  let  me  haste  to  make 
Atonement.    Brother,  note.    The  jewels — 
Yes,  and  that  paper — Heaven  and  accident 
Ordained  it  so — were  placed — curse  on  my  flesh, 
To  tremble  thus  ! — were  placed  there  by  my  hand 

Fitz.  Oh,  mercy  on  me  ! 

Sir  E.  More.    I  feared  this  boy; 
He  knew  my  secret,  and  I  blackened  him, 
That,  should  he  e'er  divulge  the  fatal  story 
His  word  might  meet  no  credit.  Infamy 
Will  brand  my  memory  for't ;  Posterity, 
Whose  breath  I  made  my  god,  will  keep  my  shame 
Green  in  her  damning  record.    Oh  !  I  had — 
I  had  a  heart  o'erflowing  with  good  thoughts 
For  all  mankind  :  one  fatal — fatal  turn 
Has  poisoned  all !    Where  is  my  honour  now  1 


68  THE  IRON  CHEST. 


[Act  JI1 


To  die — to  have  my  ashes  trampled  on 
By  the  proud  foot  of  scorn  ! — Polluted  ! — Hell ! 
Who  dares  to  mock  my  guilt  ? — ls't  you  1  or  you  1 
Wrack  me  that  grinning  fiend  ! — Damnation  ! 
Who  spits  upon  my  grave  1 — I'll  stab  again  ! 
I'll— Oh  !  [Fall*. 
Fitz.  This  rives  my  heart  in  twain  ! — Why,  brother  ! 
brother ! 
His  looks  are  ghastly. 

Enter  Gregory,  r. 
Gre.  Sir,  the  officers — 

Fitz.  Away,  knave  ! — Send  them  hence — the  boy  is  in- 
nocent ! 

Tell  it  your  fellows.    Hence  !    Send  in  some  help  : 
Your  master's  ill  o'  the  sudden.    Send  some  help. 

[Exit  Gregory,  r. 
Wil.  [Crossing  to  Sir  Edward.]  'Twere  best  to  rua* 

him,  6ir. 
Fitz.  Soft — who  comes  here  1 

Enter  Helen,  r 

Hel.  Where  is  he  1 — 111,  and  on  the  ground ! — Oh ! 
Mortimer ! 

Oh,  Heaven  ! — My  Mortimer  ! — Oh,  raise  him — gently  ! 
Speak  to  me,  love.    He  cannot ! 

Sir  E.  Helen — 'twas  I — that— killed — 

[He  struggles  to  speak,  but,  unable  to  utter,  he  Jails  and 
dies — Helen  kneels  over  him  as  the  curtain  slowly 
descends. 

DISPOSITION  OF  THE  CHARACTERS  AT  THE  FALL  OF 
THE  CURTAIN. 

Helen. 

WiLroRD.  Mortimer.  Fiyihard.'no, 

E.]  ft. 

THE  END. 


No.  IV. 

FRENCH'S     STANDARD  DRAMA. 


EICHELIEU: 

OR, 

THE  CONSPIRACY.  - 

IN  FIVE  ACTS. 

BY  SIR  EDWARD  LYTTON  BTJLWER. 

FROM  THE  AUTHOR'S  LATEST  EDITION. 

WITH  THE  STAGE  BUSINESS,  CAST  OF  CHAR- 
ACTERS, COSTUMES,  RELATIVE  POSITIONS 
ETC. 


NEW-YORK : 
SAMUEL  FRENCH, 

129  NASSAU-STREET. 

PRICE,  13*  CENTS. 


PERSONS  OF  THE  DRAMA, 

Louis  the  Thirteenth, 

Gaston,  Duke  of  Orleans,  (brother  to  Louis  XIII.) 

Baradas,  (Favourite  of  the  King,  first  gentleman  of  the  Chamber.  Pre* 

mier,  Ecuyer,  &e.) 
Cardinal  Richelieu, 
The  Chevalier  de  Mauprat. 

The  Sieur  de  Bering  hen,  (in  attendance  on  the  King  *  one  of  the  con- 
spirators,) 

Joseph,  (a  Capuchin,  Richelieu's  confidant,) 

Huguet,  (an  officer  of  Richelieu's  household  guard — a  Spy,) 

Francois,  (first  Page  to  Richelieu,) 

First  Courtier, 

Captain  of  the  Archers, 

First,  ) 

Second,  V  Secretaries  of  State. 
Third,  j 

Governor  of  the  Bastile, 
Gaoler, 

Courtiers,  Pages,  Conspirators,  Officers,  Soldiers,  &c. 

Julie  de  Mortemar,  (an  Orphan  Ward  to  Richelieu.) 

Marion  de  Lorme,  (Mistress  to  Orleans,  but  in  Richelieu's  pay.) 

*  Properly  speaking,  tlie  King's  First  Valet  de  Chambre,  a  post  of  great  impor- 
tance at  that  time. 

NOTE. 

The  length  of  the  Play  necessarily  requires  curtailments  on  the  Stage — ■ 
the  passages  thus  omitted  are  those  inserted  with  inverted  commas.  Many 
of  the  passages  thus  left  out,  however  immaterial  to  the.  audience,  must 
obviously  be  such  as  the  reader  would  be  least  inclined  to  dispense  with — 
viz  :  those  which,  without  being  absolutely  essential  to  the  business  of  the 
Stage,  contain  either  the  subtler  strokes  of  character,  or  the  more  poetical 
embellishments  of  description.  A  more  important  consequence  of  these 
suppressions  is,  that  Richelieu  himself  is  left  too  often,  and  too  unre- 
lievedly,  to  positions  which  place  him  in  an  amiable  light,  without  that 
shadowing  forth  of  bis  more  sinister  motives  and  his  fiercer  qualities 
which  is  attempted  in  the  written  play.  Thus,  the  character  takes  a  degree 
of  credit  due  only  to  the  situation.  To  judge  the  Author's  conception  of 
Richelieu  fairly,  and  to  estimate  how  far  it  is  consistent  with  historical  por- 
traiture, the  Play  must  be  read. 


THEATRICAL  MEMORANDA. 

R.  means  Right  ;  L.  Left  ;  C  Centre  ;  R.  C  Right  of  Centre  ;  L.  C. 
Left  of  Centre  ;  D.  F.  Door  in  Flat  ;  R.  D.  Right  Door  ;  L.  D.  Left  Door ; 
S.  E.  Second  Entrance  ;  U.  E.  Upper  Entrance  ;  CD.  Centre  Door. 

*#*  The  Reader  ia  supposed  to  be  on  the  Stage  facing  the  Audience. 


(JJL 


EICHELIEU: 

OR, 

THE  CONSPIRACY. 


ACT  I. 

FIRST  DAY. 

Scene  L  — A  room  in  the  house  of  Marion  de  Lorme  ;  a 
table  towards  the  front  of  the  stage  {with  wine,  fruits,  SfC.,) 
at  which  are  seated  Baradas,  Four  Courtiers  splendidly  dressed 
in  the  costume  of  1641-2  ;  the  Duke  of  Orleans  reclining  on 
a  large  fauteuU  ;  Marion  de  Lorme,  standing  at  the  back  of 
his  chair,  offers  him  a  goblet  and  then  retires.  At  another  table, 
De  Beringhen,  De  Mauprat,  playing  at  dice  ;  other  Cour- 
tiers of  inferior  rank  to  those  at  the  table  of  the  Duke  looking 
on. 

Orleans  (drinking)  Here's  to  our  enterprize! — 
Baradas  (glancing  at  Marion).  Hush,  Sir  I 
Orleans  (aside).  Nay,  Count. 
You  may  trust  her;  she  doats  on  me;  no  house 
So  safe  as  Marion's.    "  At  our  statelier  homes 
"  The  very  walls  do  play  the  eaves-dropper. 
"  There  s  not  a  sunbeam  creeping  o'er  our  floors 
"  But  seems  a  glance  from  that  malignant  eye 
"  Which  reigns  o'er  France  ;  our  fatal  greatness  lives 
"  In  the  sharp  glare  of  one  relentless  day. 
"  But  Richelieu's  self  forgets  to  fear  the  sword 
"  The  myrtle  hides  ;  and  Marion's  silken  robe 
"  casts  its  kind  charity  o'er  fiercer  sins 
"  Than  those  which  haunt  the  rosy  path  between 
w  The  lip  and  eye  of  beauty.    Oh,  no  house 
u  So  safe  as  Marion's." 


10 


RICHELIEU. 


'  Act  I. 


Baradas.  Still,  we  have  a  secret, 
And  oil  and  water — woman  and  a  secret — 
Are  hostile  properties. 

Orleans.  Well — Marion,  see 
How  the  play  prospers  yonder.    [Marion  goes  to  the  next 
tabic,  looks  on  for  a  few  moments,  then  exit. 

Baradas  (producing  a  parchment.)  I  have  now 
All  the  conditions  drawn  ;  it  only  needs 
Our  signatures  ;  upon  receipt  of  this, 
(Whereto  is  joined  the  schedule  of  our  treaty 
With  the  Count-Duke,  (1)  the  Richelieu  of  the  Escurial) 
Bouilllion  will  join  his  army  with  the  Spaniard, 
March  on  to  Paris, — there,  dethrone  the  King  : 
You  will  be  Regent  ;  I,  and  ye,  my  Lords 
From  the  new  Council.    So  much  for  the  core 
Of  our  great  scheme. 

Orleans.  But  Richelieu  is  an  Argus  : 
One  of  his  hundred  eyes  will  light  upon  us, 
And  then — good  bye  to  life. 

Baradas.  To  gain  the  prize 
We  must  destroy  the  Argus  : — Ay,  my  Lord, 
The  scroll  the  core,  but  blood  must  fill  the  veins 
Of  our  design  ;  while  this  despatched  to  Bouillon,, 
Richelieu  despatched  to  Heaven  !    The  last  my  charge. 
Meet  here  to-morrow  night.    You,  Sir,  as  first 
In  honour  and  in  hope,  meanwhile  select 
Some  trusty  knave  to  bear  the  scroll  to  Bouillon  ; 
'Midst  Richelieu's  foes,  I'll  find  some  desperate  hand 
To  strike  for  vengeance,  while  we  stride  to  power. 

Orleam.   So  be  it  ; — to-morrow,  midnight. — Come,  my 
Lords. 

Exeunt  Orleans,  and  the  Courtiers  in  his  train.    Those  at 
the  other  table  rise,  salute  Orleans,  and  re-seat  themselves. 
De  Beringhen.  Double  the^takes. 
De  Maup.  Done. 

De  Ber.  Bravo  ;  faith,  it  shames  me 
To  bleed  a  purse  already  in  extremis. 

De  Maup.  Nay,  as  you've  had  the  patient  to  yourself  

So  long,  no  other  doctor  should  despatch  it. 

(De  Madprat  throws  and  loses.) 

Omnes.  Lost  !    Ha,  ha — poor  De  Mauprat  1 


Scene  I.] 


RICHELIEU. 


11 


De  Ber.  One  throw  more  ? 

De  Maup.   No  ;  I  am  bankrupt  (pushing  gold.)  Thero 
goes  all  except 
My  honour  and  my  sword. 

De  Ber.  Long  cloaks  and  honour 
Went  out  of  vogue  together,  wheif  we  found 
We  got  on  much  more  rapidly  without  them  ; 
The  sword,  indeed,  is  never  out  of  fashion, — 
The  devil  has  care  of  tha.t 

First  Gamester.  Ay,  take  the  sword 
To  Cardinal  Richelieu  : — he  gives  gold  for  steel, 
When  worn  by  brave  men. 

De  Maup.  Richelieu  1 

De  Ber.  (to  Baradas.)    At  that  name 
He  changes  colour,  bites  his  nether  lip. 
Ev'n  in  his  brightest  moments  whisper  "  Richelieu," 
And  you  cloud  all  his  sunshine. 

Bar.  I  have  mark'd  it, 
And  I  will  learn  the  wherefore. 

De  Maup.  The  Egyptian 
Dissolved  her  richest  jewel  in  a  draught : 
Would  I  could  so  melt  time  and  all  its  treasures, 
And  drain  it  thus,  [Drinking 

De  Ber.  Come,  gentlemen,  what  say  ye  : 
A  walk  on  the  Parade  ? 

Omnes.  Ay,  come,  De  Mauprat. 

De  Maup.  Pardon  me  ;  we  shall  meet  again,  ere  mght 
fall. 

Bar.  I'll  stay  and  comfort  Mauprat. 

De  Ber.  Comfort ! — when 
We  gallant  fellows  have  run  out  a  friend, 
There's  nothing  left — except  to  run  him  through  I 
There's  the  last  act  of  friendship. 

De  Maup.  Let  me  keep 
That  favor  in  reserve  ;  in  all  beside 
Your  most  obedient  servant. 

Exeunt  De  Beringhen,  §-c.    Manent  De  Mauprat  and 
Baradas. 

Bar.  You  have  lost — 
Yet  are  not  sad. 
De  Manp.  Sad  ! — Life  and  gold  have  wings. 


12 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  1 


And  must  fly  one  day  ; — open  then,  their  cages 
And  wish  them  merry. 

Bar.  You're  a  strange  enigma  : — 

Fiery  in  war  and  yet  to  glory  lukewarm  ;  

All  mirth  in  action — in  repose  all  gloom — 

These  are  extremes  in  which  the  unconscious  heart 

Betrays  the  fever  of  deep-fix'd  disease. 

Confide  in  me  1  our  young  days  roll'd  together 

In  the  same  river,  glassing  the  same  stars 

That  smile  i'  the  heaven  of  hope  ; — alika  we  made 

Bright-winged  steeds  of  our  unform'd  chimeras, 

Spurring  the  fancies  upward  to  the  air, 

Wherein  we  shaped  fair  castles  from  the  clouds  : 

Fortune  of  late  has  sever'd  us — and  led 

Me  to  the  rank  of  Courtier,  Count,  and  Favourite,— 

You  to  the  titles  of  the  wildest  gallant 

And  bravest  knight  in  France — are  you  content  ? 

No  ; — trust  in  me — some  gloomy  secret  

De  Maup.  Ay  : — 
A  secret  that  doth  haunt  me,  as  of  old, 
Men  were  possess'd  of  fiends  ! — Where'er  I  turn, 
The  grave  yawns  dark  before  me — I  will  trust  you : 
Hating  the  Cardinal,  and  beguiled  by  Orleans, 
You  know  I  join'd  the  Languedoc  revolt — 
Was  captured — sent  to  the  Bastile  

Bar.  But  shared 
The  general  pardon,  which  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
Won  for  himself  and  all  in  the  revolt, 
Who  but  obey'd  his  orders. 

De  Maup.  Note  the  phrase  ; — 

"  Obeyed  his  Orders,"    Well,  when  on  my  way 
To  join  the  Duke  in  Languedoc,  I  (then 
The  down  upon  my  lip — less  man  than  boy) 
Leading  young  valours — reckless  as  myself, 
Seized  on  the  town  of  Faviaux,  and  displaced 
The  Royal  banners  for  the  Rebel.  Orleans, 
(Never  too  daring,)  when  I  reach'd  the  camp, 
Blamed  me  for  acting — mark — without  his  orders : 
Upon  this  quibble  Richilieu  razed  my  name 
Out  of  the  general  pardon. 

Bar  Yet  released  you 
From  the  Bastile  

■ 


Scene  I.] 


RICHELIEU. 


13 


De  Maup.  To  call  me  to  his  presence, 
And  thus  address  me  : — "  You  have  seized  a  town 
Of  France  without  the  orders  of  your  leader, 
And  for  this  treason,  but  one  sentence — Death." 

Bar.  Death  ! 

De  Maup.  **  I  have  pity  on  your  youth  and  birth, 
Nor  wish  to  glut  the  headsman  ;  join  your  troop, 
Now  on  the  march  against  the  Spaniards  ; — change 
The  traitor's  scaffold  for  the  soldier's  grave  ; — 
Your  memory  stainless — they  who  shared  your  crime 
Exiled  or  dead — your  king  shall  never  learn  it." 

Bar.  0  tender  pity — 0  most  charming  prospect ! 
Blown  into  atoms  by  a  bomb,  or  drill'd 
Into  a  cullendar  by  gunshot  ! — Well  ? — 

De  Mawp.  You  have  heard  if  I  fought  bravely. — Death 
became 

Desired  as  Daphne  by  the  eager  Daygod. 

Like  him  I  chased  the  Nymph — to  grasp  the  laurel ! 

I  could  not  die  ! 

Bar.  Poor  fellow  ! 

De  Maup.  When  the  Cardinal 
Review' d  the  troops — his  eyes  met  mine  • — he  frown'd, 
Summon' d  me  forth — "  How's  this  ?"  quoth  he  ;  you  have 
shunn'd 

The  sword — beware  the  axe  ! — 'twill  fall  one  day  !* 
He  left  me  thus — we  were  recalled  to  Paris. 
And — you  know  all ! 

Bar.  And,  knowing  this,  why  halt  you, 
Spell'd  by  the  rattlesnake, — while  in  the  breasts 
Of  your  firm  friends  beat  hearts,  that  vow  the  death 
Of  your  grim  tyrant  ? — wake  ! — Be  one  of  us  ; 
The  time  invites — the  King  detests  the  Cardinal, 
Dares  hot  disgrace — but  groans  to  be  deliver'd 
Of  that  too  great  a  subject — -join  your  friends, 
Free  France,  and  save  yourself. 

De  Maup.  Hush  !    Richelieu  bears 
A  charm1  d  life  : — to  all  who  have  braved  his  power, 
One  common  end — the  block  ! 

Bar.  Nay,  if  he  live, 
The  block  your  doom. 

De  Maup.  Better  the  victim,  Count, 


14 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  h 


Than  the  assassin — France  requires  a  Richelieu, 
But  does  not  need  a  Mauprat.    Truce  to  this  ; — 
All  time  one  midnight,  where  my  thoughts  are  spe*ctres, 
What  to  me  fame  ? — what  love  ? — 

Bar.  Yet  dost  thou  love  not  ? 

De  Maup.    Love  ? — I  am  young  

Bar.  And  Julie  fair  !  {Aside)  It  is  so. 
Upon  the  margin  of  the  grave — his  hand 
Would  pluck  the  rose  that  I  would  win  and  wear  I 
(Aloud.)  Thou  lovest — 

De  Maup.  "  Who  lonely  in  the  midnight  tent, 
u  Gazed  on  the  watch-fires  in  the  sleepless  air, 
"  Nor  chose  one  star  amidst  the  clustering  hosts 
11  To  bless  it  in  the  name  of  some  fair  face 
"  Set  in  his  spirit  as  the  star  in  Heaven  1 
"  For  our  divine  Affections,  like  the  Spheres, 
"  Move  ever,  ever  musical. 

Bar.  "  You  speak 
"  As  one  who  fed  on  poetry 

De  Maup.  "  Why,  man, 
"  The  thoughts  of  lovers  stir  with  poetry 
"  As  leaves  with  summer  wind.    The  heart  that  loves 
"  Dwells  in  an  Eden,  hearing  angel-lutes, 
"  As  Eve  in  the  First  Garden.    Hast  thou  seen 
"  My  Julie  and  not  felt  it  henceforth  dull 
"  To  live  in  the  common  world — and  talk  in  words 
"  That  clothe  the  feelings  of  the  frigid  herd  ? — 
"  Upon  the  perfumed  pillow  of  her  lips — 
"  As  on  his  nalive  bed  of  of  roses  flush'd 
"  With  Paphian  skies — Love  smiling  sleeps  : — Her  voice 
"  The  blessed  interpreter  of  thoughts  as  pure 
"  As  virgin  wells  where  Dian  takes  delight, 
"  Or  Fairies  dip  their  changelings  ! — In  the  maze 
"  Of  her  harmonious  beauties — Modesty 
"  (Like  some  severer  Grace  that  leads  the  choir 
M  Of  her  sweet  sisters)  every  airy  motion 
"  Attunes  to  such  chaste  charm,  that  Passion  holds 
"  His  burning  breath,  and  will  not  with  a  sigh 
"  Dissolve  the  spell  that  binds  him  !    Oh,  those  eyes 
"  That  woo  the  earth — shadowing  more  soul  that  lurks 
"  Under  the  lids  of  Psyche  1— Go  t— thy  lip 


Scene  I.] 


RICHELIEU. 


"  Curls  at  the  purpled  phrases  of  a  lover — 
"  Love  thou,  and  if  thy  love  be  deep  as  mine, 
"  Thou  wilt  not  laugh  at  poets. 

Bar.  {aside)  "  With  each  word 
"  Thou  wak'st  a  jealous  demon  in  my  heart, 
"  And  my  hand  clutches  at  my  hilt — 

De  Maup.  (gaily)  No  more  ! — 
I  love  ! — Your  breast  holds  both  my  secrets  ; — Never 
Unbury  either  ! — Come,  while  yet  we  may, 
We'll  bask  us  in  the  noon  of  rosy  life  : — 
Lounge  through  the  gardens,  flaunt  it  in  the  taverns, — 
Laugh, — game, — drink, — feast  : — If  so  confined  my  days, 
Faith,  I'll  enclose  the  nights.    Pshaw,  not  so  grave  ; 
I'm  a  true  Frenchman  ! —  Vive  la  bagatelle  ! 
As  they  are  going  out  enter  Huguet  and  four  Arquebusiers. 

Huguet.  Messire  De  Mauprat, — I  arrest  you  ! — Follow 
To  the  Lord  Cardinal. 

De  Maup.  You  see,  my  friend, 
I'm  out  of  my  suspense  ;  the  tiger's  play'd 
Long  enough  with  his  prey. — Farewell  !  Hereafter 
Say,  when  men  name  me,  "  Adrien  de  Mauprat 
Lived  without  hope,  and  perished  without  fear  tw 

[Exeunt  De  Mauprat,  Huguet,  &c. 

Bar.  Farewell !    I  trust  forever  !  I  design'd  thee 
For  Richelieu's  murderer — but,  as  well  as  his  martyr  ! 
In  childhood  you  the  stronger,  and  I  cursed  you  ; 
In  youth  the  fairer,  and  I  cursed  you  still  ; 
And  now  my  rival ! — While  the  name  of  Julie 
Hung  on  thy  lips,  I  smiled — for  then  I  saw 
In  my  mind's  eye,  the  cold  and  grinning  Death 
Hang  o'er  thy  head  the  pall  !    Ambition,  Love, 
Ye  twin-born  stars  of  daring  destinies, 
Sit  in  my  house  of  Life  !    By  the  King's  aid 
I  will  be  Julie's  husband,  in  despite 
Of  my  Lord  Cardinal.    By  the  King's  aid 
I  will  be  minister  of  France,  in  spite 
Of  my  Lord  Cardinal  ;  and  then  ;  what  then  ? 
The  King  loves  Julie  ;  feeble  prince  !  false  master  ! 

[Producing  and  gazing  on  the  parchment. 
Then,  by  the  aid  of  Buillion,  and  the  Spaniard, 


16 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  L 


I  will  dethrone  the  King  ;  and  all — ha  ! — ha  !  ' 
All,  in  despite  of  my  Lord  Cardinal. 

Scene  II. — A  room  in  the  Palais  Cardinal,  the  walls  hung 
with  arras.  A  large  screen  in  one  comer.  A  table  covered  with 
books,  papers,  SfC  A  rude  clock  in  a  recess.  Busts,  statues, 
book-cases,  weapons  of  different  periods,  and  banners  suspended 
over  Richeleus's  chair. 

richelieu  and  Joseph. 

Rich.  And  so  you  think  this  new  conspiracy 
The  craftiest  trap  yet  laid  for  the  old  fox  ? — 
Fox  ! — Well,  I  like  the  nickname  ?    What  did  Plutarch 
Say  of  the  Greek  Lysander  ? 

Joseph.  I  forget. 

Rich.  That  where  the  lion's  skin  fell  short,  he  eked  it 
Out  with  the  fox's  !    A  great*  statesman,  Joseph. 
That  same  Lysander  I 

Joseph.  Orleans  heads  the  traitor's. 

Rich.  A  very  wooden  head  then  I    Well  ? 

Joseph.  The  favourite, 
Count  Baradas — 

Rich.  A  weed  of  hasty  growth 
First  gentleman  of  the  chamber, — titles,  lands, 
And  the  King's  ear  !    It  cost  me  six  long  winters 
To  mount  as  high,  as  in  six  little  moons 
This  painted  lizard — But  I  hold  the  ladder, 
And  when  I  shake  he  falls  !    What  more  ? 

Joseph.  A  scheme 
To  make  your  orphan-ward  an  instrument 
To  aid  your  foes  you  placed  her  with  the  Queen, 
One  of  the  royal  chamber,  as  a  watch 
I'  th'  enemy's  quarters — 

Rich.  And  the  silly  child 
Yisits  me  daily,  calls  me  "  Father," — prays 
Kind  heaven  to  bless  me.    And  for  all  the  rest, 
As  well  have  placed  a  doll  about  the  Queen  ! 
She  does  not  heed  who  frowns,  who  smiles  ;  with  whom 
The  King  confers  in  whispers  ;  notes  not  when 
Men  who  last  week  were  foes,  are  found  in  corners 
Mysteriously  affectionate  ;  words  spoken 


Scene  II.] 


RICnELIEU. 


11 


Within  closed  doors  she  never  hears  ;  by  chance 
Taking  the  air  at  keyholes — Senseless  puppet  I 
JNo  ears  nor  eyes  !  And  yet  she  says  :  "  She  loves  me  1" 
Go  on — 

Joseph.  Your  ward  has  charmed  the  King. 

Rich.  Out  on  you  ! 
Have  I  not,  one  by  one,  from  such  fair  shoots 
Pluck'd  the  insidious  ivy  of  his  love  ? 
And  shall  it  creep  around  my  blossoming  tree 
Where  innocent  thoughts,  like  happy  birds,  make  music 
That  spirits  in  heaven  might  hear  ?    They're  sinful,  too, 
Those  passionate  surfeits  of  the  rampant  flesh, — 
The  Church  condemns  them  ;  and  to  us,  my  Joseph, 
The  props  and  pillars  of  the  Church,  most  hurtful. 
The  King  is  weak — whoever  the  King  loves 
Must  rule  the  King  ;  the  lady  loves  another, 
The  other  rules  the  lady,  thus  we're  balked 
Of  our  own  proper  sway.    The  King  must  have 
JSo  goddess  but  the  State  : — the  State  1    That's  Richelieu  ! 

Joseph.  This  is  not  the  worst  ;  Louis,  in  all  decorous, 
And  deeming  you  her  least  compliant  guardian, 
Would  veil  his  suit  by  marriage  with  his  minion, 
Yovr  prosperous  foe,  Count  Baradas  ! 

Rich.  Ha  !  ha  ! 
I  have  another  bride  for  Baradas  ! 

Joseph.  You  my  lord  ? 

Rich.  Ay — more  faithful  than  the  love 
Of  fickle  woman  :  when  the  head  lies  lowliest 
Clasping  him  fondest ; — Sorrow  never  knew 
So  sure  a  soother, — and  her  bed  is  stainless  ! 

Joseph  {aside)  If  of  the  grave  he  speaks,  I  do  not  wonder 
That  priests  are  bachelors. 

Enter  Francois. 

Francois.  Mademoiselle  De  Mortemar  \ 

Rich.  Most  opportune — admit  her.       [Exit  Francois. 
In  my  closet 
You'll  find  a  rosary,  Joseph  ;  ere  you  tell 
Three  hundred  beads,  I'll  summon  you. — Stay,  Joseph  j 
I  did  omit  an  Ave  in  my  matins, — 
A  grievous  fault  ;  atone  it  for  me,  Joseph  ; 


13 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  1 


There  is  a  scourge  within  ;  I  am  weak,  you  strong  ; 

It  were  but  charity  to  take  my  sin 

On  such  broad  shoulders.    Exercise  is  healthful. 

Joseph.  I  1  guilty  of  such  criminal  presumption 
As  to  mistake  myself  for  you — No,  never  ! 
Think  it  not  I    {Aside.)  Troth,  a  pleasant  invitation  I 

[Exit  Joseph. 

Elite  Julie  de  Mortem ar. 

Richelieu.  That's  my  sweet  Julie  !  why,  upon  this  face 
Blushes  such  daybreak,  one  might  swear  the  morning 
Were  come  to  visit  Tithon. 

Julie  (placing  herself  at  his  feet).  Are  you  gracious  ? 
May  I  say  "  Father  V1 

Rich.  Now  and  ever  ! 

Julie.  Father  ! 
A  sweet  word  to  an  orphan. 

Rich.  No  ;  not  orphan 
"While  Richelieu  lives  ;  thy  father  loved  me  well  ; 
My  friend,  ere  I  had  flatterers  (now  I'm  great, 
In  other  phrase,  I'm  friendless) — he  died  young 
In  years,  not  service,  and  bequeathed  thee  to  me  ; 
And  thou  shalt  have  a  dowry,  girl,  to  buy 
Thy  mate  amid  the  mightiest.    Drooping  ? — sighs  ? — 
Art  thou  not  happy  at  the  court  ? 

Julie.  Not  often. 

Rich,  (aside.)  Can  she  love  Baradas  ?    Ah  I  at  thy  heart 
There's  what  can  smile  and  sigh,  blush  and  grow  pale, 
All  in  a  breath  !    Thou  art  admired — art  young  ; 
Does  not  his  Majesty  commend  thy  beauty — 
Ask  thee  to  sing  to  him  ? — and  swear  such  sounds 
Had  smooth'd  the  brows  of  Saul  ? 

Julie.  He's  very  tiresome, 
Onr  worthy  King. 

Rich.  Fie!  Kings  are  never  tiresome 
Save  to  their  ministers.    What  courtly  gallants 
Charm  ladies  most  ? — De  Sourdiac,  Longueville,  or 
The  favourite  Baradas  ? 

Julie.  A  smileless  man — 
Fear  and  shun  him. 

Rich.  Yet  he  courts  thee  1 


Scene  II. "1 


RICHELIEU. 


19 


Julie.  Then 
He  is  more  tiresome  than  his  Majesty. 

Rich.  Right,  girl,  shun  Baradas.    Yet  of  these  flowers 
Of  France,  not  one,  in  whose  more  honeyed  breath 
Thy  heart  hears  summer  whisper  ? 

Enter  Huguet. 

Huguet.  The  Chevalier 
De  Mauprat  waits  below. 

Julie  {starting  up).  De  Mauprat ! 
Rich.  Hem  1 

He  has  been  tiresome  too  ! — Anon.  [  Exit  Huguet. 

Julie.  What  doth  he  ? 
I  mean — I — Does  your  Emininence — that  is — 
Know  you  Messire  de  Mauprat  ? 

Rich.  Well ! — and  you — 
Has  he  addressed  you  often  ? 

Julie.  Often  !  No — 
Nine  times  :  nay,  ten  ; — the  last  time  by  the  lattice 
Of  the  great  staircase.  (In  a  melancholy  tone.)    The  Court 
sees  him  rarely. 

Rich.  A  bold  and  forward  royster  1 

Julie.  He  ?  nay,  modest, 
Gentle  and  sad,  methinks. 

Rich.  Wears  gold  and  azure  ? 

Julie.  No  ;  sable. 

Rich.  So  you  note  his  colours,  Julie  ? 
Shame  on  you,  child,  look  loftier.    By  the  mass, 
I  have  business  with  this  modest  gentleman. 

Julie.  You're  angry  with  poor  Julie.    There's  no  cause. 

Rich.  No  cause — you  hate  my  foes  ? 

Julie.  I  do  ! 

Rich.  Hate  Mauprat  ? 

Julie.  Not  Mauprat.    No,  not  Adrien,  father. 

Rich.  Adrien  ! 
Familiar  ! — Go,  child  ;  no, — not  that  way  ;  wait 
In  the  tapestry  chamber  ;  I  will  join  you, — go. 

Julie.  His  brows  are  knit  ;  I  dare  not  call  him  father  ! 
But  I  must  speak.    Your  Eminence — 

Rich,  (sternly.)  Well,  girl  1 

Julie.  Nay, 


20 


RICHELIEU. 


|_ACT  v 


Smile  on  me — one  smile  more  ;  there,  now  I'm  happy. 
Do  not  rank  Mauprat  with  your  foes  ;  he  is  not, 

I  know  he  is  not ;  he  loves  France  too  well. 
Rick.  Not  rank  De  Mauprat  with  my  foes  ? 

So  be  it. 

I'll  blot  him  from  that  list. 

Julie.  That's  my  own  father.  [Exit  Julie. 

Hick.  (Ringing  a  small  bell  on  the  table.)  Huguet ! 
Enter  IIuguet. 
De  Mauprat  struggled  not  not  murmur'd  ? 

Huguet.  No:  proud  aud  passive. 

Rick.  Bid  him  enter. — Ilold  : 
Look  that  he  hide  no  weapon.    Ilump,  despair 
Makes  victims  sometimes  victors.    When  he  has  enter'd, 
Glide  round  unseen  ;  place  thyself  yoqjider  (pointing  to  the 

screen  ;)  watch  him  ; 
If  he  show  violence — (let  me  see  thy  carbine  ; 
So,  a  good  weapon  ;)  if  he  play  the  lion, 
Why — the  dog's  death. 

Exit  Huguet  ;  Richelieu  seats  himself  at  tJie  table,  and 
slowly  arranges  tJie  papers  before  him.  Enter  De  Mauprat 
preceded  by  Huguet,  who  then  retires  beJdnd  the  screen. 

Rich.  Approach,  Sir.    Can  you  call  to  mind  the  hour, 
Now  three  years  since,  when  in  this  room,  methinks, 
Your  presence  honoured  me  ? 

De  Mauprat.  It  is,  my  lord, 
One  of  my  most — 

Rich,  (drily.)  Delightful  recollections.  (2) 

De  Maup.  (aside.)  St.  Denis  I  doth  he  make  a  jest  of  axe 
and  headsman  ? 

Rick,  (sternly.)  I  did  then  accord  you 
A  mercy  ill  requited — you  still  live  ? 

DeMaup.  "  To  meet  death  face  to  face  at  last." 

Rich.  "  Your  words 
"  Are  bold. 

De  Maup.  My  deeds  have  not  belied  them." 

Rich.  "  Deeds  ! 
"  0  miserable  delusion  of  man's  pride  ! 

II  Deeds  !  cities  sack'd,  field's  ravaged,  hearth's  profaned, 
"  Men  butcher'd  !    In  your  hour  of  doom  behold 


Scene  II.] 


RICHELIEU. 


21 


"  The  deeds  you  boast  of  I    From  rank  showers  of  blood, 
"  A  ad  the  red  light  of  blazing  roofs,  you  build 
"  The  rainbow  Glory,  and  to  shuddering  Conscience 
"  Cry  :  Lo  I  the  bridge  to  Heaven  V 

De  Maup.  "  If  war  be  sinful 
"  Your  hand  the  gauntlet  cast 

Rich.  "  It  was  so,  Sir. 
"  Note  the  distinction  :  I  weigh'd  well  the  cause 
"  Which  made  the  standard  holy  ;  raised  the  war 
"  But  to  secure  the  peace.    France  bled — I  groan'd  ; 
"  But  look'd  beyond  ;  and,  in  the  vista,  saw 
"  France  saved,  and  I  exulted.    You — but  you 
"  Were  but  the  tool  of  slaughter — knowing  naught, 
"  Foreseeing  naught,  naught  hoping,  naught  lamenting, 
"  And  for  naught  lit, — save  cutting  throats  for  hire. 
11  Deeds  !  marry,  deeds  \n 

De  Maup.  "  If  you  would  deign  to  speak 
"  Thus  to  your  armies  ere  they  march  to  battle, 
"  Perchance  your  Eminence  might  have  the  pain 
"  Of  the  throat-cutting  to  yourself. 

Rich.  (Aside.)  "  He  has  wit, 
"  This  Mauprat — (Aloud) — Let  it  pass;  there  is  against  you 
"  What  you  can  less  excuse."    Messire  de  Mauprat, 
Doom'd  to  sure  death,  how  hast  since  consumed 
The  time  allotted  thee  for  serious  thought 
And  solemn  penance  ? 

De  Maup.  (embarrassed.)  The  time,  my  Lord? 

Richelieu.  Is  not  the  question  plain  ?    I'll  answer  for 
thee. 

Thou  hast  sought  nor  priest  nor  shrine  ;  no  sackcloth 
chafed 

Thy  delicate  flesh.    The  rosary  and  the  death's-head 
Have  not,  with  pious  meditation,  purged 
Earth  from  the  carnal  gaze.    What  thou  hast  not  done 
Brief  told  ;  what  done,  a  volume  !    Wild  debauch, 
Turbulent  riot  : — for  the  morn  the  dice-box — 
Noon  claim'd  the  duel — and  t  e  night  the  wassail  : 
These,  your  most  holy  pure  preparatives 
For  death  and  judgment !    Do  I  wrong  you,  Sir  ? 
De  Maup.  I  was  not  always  thus  : — if  changed  my 
nature. 


22 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act.  x 


Blame  that  which  changed  my  fate. — Alas,  my  Lord, 

"  There  is  a  brother  which  calm-eyed  Reason, 

"  Can  wot  not  of  betwixt  Despair  and  Mirth. 

"  My  birth-place  mid  the  vines  of  sunny  Provence, 

"  Perchance  the  stream  that  sparkles  in  my  veins 

11  Came  from  that  wine  of  passionate  life,  which  erst 

"  Glow'd  in  the  wild  heart  of  the  Troubador  : 

"  And  danger,  which  makes  steadier  courage  wary, 

'*  But  fevers  me  with  an  insane  delight ; 

"  As  one  of  old  who  on  the  mountain-crags 

"  Caught  madness  from  a  Maenad's  haunting  eyes. 

"  Were  you,  my  Lord,  whose  path  imperial  power, 

"  And  the  grave  cares  of  reverent  wisdom  guard 

"  From  all  that  tempts  to  folly  meaner  men, — 

Were  you  accursed  with  that  which  you  inflicted — 

By  bed  and  board,  dogg'd  by  one  ghastly  spectre 

The  while  within  youth  beat  high,  and  life 

Grew  lovelier  from  the  neighboring  frown  of  death — 

The  heart  no  bud,  nor  fruit — save  in  those  seeds 

Most  worthless,  which  spring  up,  bloom,  bear,  and  wither 

In  the  same  hour. — Were  this  your  fate,  perchance, 

You  would  have  err'd  like  me  ! 

Richelieu.  I  might,  like  you, 
Have  been  a  brawler  and  a  reveller  ; — not, 
Like  you,  a  trickster  and  a  thief, — 

De  Maup.  (advancing  threateningly).  Lord  Cardinal  ! 
Unsay  those  words  ! — 

[Huguet  deliberately  raises  his  carbine.~\ 

Rich,  {leaving  his  hand.)  Not  quite  so   quick,  friend 
Huguet ; 

Messire  de  Mauprat  is  a  patient  man, 
And  he  can  wait ! — 

You  have  outrun  your  fortune  ; 
I  blame  you  not  that  you  would  be  a  beggar — 
Each  to  his  taste  ! — but  I  do  charge  you,  Sir, 
That  being  beggar'd,  you  would  coin  false  moneys 
Out  of  that  crucible,  called  debt. — To  live 
On  means  not  yours — be  brave  in  silks  and  laces, 
Gallant  in  steeds,  splendid  in  banquets  ; — all 
Not  yours — ungiven,  unherited — unpaid  for  ; 
This  is  to  be  a  trickster  ;  and  to  filch 


Scene  II.] 


RICHELIEU. 


23 


Men's  art  and  labour,  which  to  them  is  wealth, 

Life,  daily  bread, — quitting  all  scores  with — "  Friend, 

You're  troublesome  V — Why  this,  forgive  me, 

Is  what — when  done  with  a  less  dainty  grace — 

Plain  folks  call  "  Theft!" — You  owe  eight  thousand  pistoles, 

Minus  one  crown,  two  liards  ! 

De  Maup.  (aside.)  The  old  conjurer  I 
Sdeath,  he'll  inform  me  next  how  many  cups 
I  drank  at  dinner  ! 

Rick.  This  is  scandalous, 

Shaming  your  birth  and  blood.  1  tell  you,  Sir 

That  you  must  pay  your  debts — 

De  Maup.  With  all  my  heart, 
My  Lord.    Where  shall  I  borrow,  then,  the  money  ? 

Rich,  (aside  and  laughing.)  A  humurous  dare-devil 
— The  very  man 
To  suit  my  purpose — ready,  frank,  and  bold  ! 

[Rising  and,  earnestly. 
Adrien  de  Mauprat,  men  have  called  me  cruel  ; 
I  am  not  ;  I  am  just ! — I  found  France  rent  asunder,— 
The  rich  men  despots,  and  the  poor  banditti ; — 
Sloth  in  the  mart,  and  schism  within  the  temple  ; 
Brawls  festering  to  Rebellion  ;  and  weak  Laws 
Hotting  away  with  rust  in  antique  sheaths  — 
I  have  re-created  France  ;  and  from  the  ashes 
Of  the  old  feudal  and  decrepid  carcase, 
Civilization  on  her  luminous  wings 
Soars, — phcenix-like,  to  Jove  ! — what  was  my  art  ? 
Genius,  some  say, — some  Fortune, — Witchcraft,  some , 
Not  so  ;  my  art  was  Justice  ! — Force  and  fraud 
Misname  it  cruelty — you  shall  confute  them  ! 
My  champion  you  ! — You  met  me  as  your  foe. 
Depart  my  friend — you  shall  not  die — France  needs  you. 
You  shall  wipe  off  all  stains, — be  rich,  be  honor'd, 

Be  great  [De  Mauprat  falls  on  his  knee — RiCHELlfit 

raises  him.]  I  ask,  Sir,  in  return,  this  hand, 
To  gift  it  with  a  bride,  whose  dowry  shall  match, 
Yet  not  exceed  her  beauty. 

De  Maup.  I,  my  Lord —  [Besitahng. 
I  have  no  wish  to  marry. 

Rich.  Surely,  Sir, 
To  die  were  worse. 


24 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  I 


De  Maup.  Scarcely  ;  the  poorest  coward 
Must  die, — but  knowingly  to  march  to  marriage — 
My  Lord,  it  asks  the  courage  of  a  lion  1 

Rich.  Traitor,  thou  triflest  with  me  ! — I  know  all ! 
Thou  hast  dared  to  love  my  ward — my  charge. 

De  Maup.  As  rivers 
May  love  the  sunlight — basking  in  the  beams, 
And  hurrying  on  ! — 

Rich.  Thou  has  told  her  of  thy  love  ; 

De  Maup.  My  Lord,  if  I  had  dared  to  love  a  maid, 
Lowliest  in  France,  I  would  not  so  have  wrong'd  her, 
As  bid  her  link  rich  life  and  virgin  hope 
With  one,  the  deathman's  gripe  might,  from  her  side, 
Pluck  at  the  nuptial  altar. 

Rick.  I  believe  thee  ; 
Yet  since  she  knows  not  of  thy  love  renounce  her  ; 
Take  life  and  fortune  with  another  ! — Silent  ? 

De  Maup.  Your  faith  has  been  one  triumph.    You  know 
not 

How  bless'd  a  thing  it  was  in  my  dark  hour 
To  nurse  the  one  sweet  thought  you  bid  me  banish^ 
Love  hath  no  need  of  words  ; — nor  less  within 
That  holiest  temple — the  heaven-builded  soul — 
Breathes  the  recorded  vow. — Base  night, — false  lover 
Were  he,  who  barter'd  all  that  brighten'd  grief, 
Or  sanctified  despair,  for  life  and  gold. 
Revoke  your  mercy  ;  I  prefer  the  fate 
I  look'd  for  ! 

Rich.  Huguet  to  the  tapestry  chamber 
Conduct  your  prisoner. 
(  To  Mauprat.)  You  will  there  behold 
The  executioner  : — your  doom  be  private — 
And  Heaven  have  mercy  on  you  ! 

De  Maup.  When  I'm  dead, 
Tell  her,  I  loved  her. 

Rich.  Keep  such  follies,  Sir, 
For  fitter  ears  ; — go — 

De  Maup.  Does  he  mock  me  ? 

[Exeunt  De  Mauprat  and  Huguet 


Scene  II.] 


RICHELIEU. 


25 


Rieh.  Joseph, 
Come  forth. 

Enter  Joseph. 
Methinks  your  cheek  has  lost  its  rubies  ; 
I  fear  you  have  been  too  lavish  of  the  flesh  ; 
The  scourge  is  heavy. 

Joseph.  Pray  you,  change  the  subject. 

Rich.  You  good  men  are  so  modest  1 — Well,  to  business  ! 
Go  instantly — deeds — notaries  1 — bid  my  stewards 
Arrange  my  house  by  the  Luxembourg — my  house 
Ko  more  ! — a  bridal  present  to  my  ward, 
Who  weds  to-morrow. 

Joseph.  Weds,  with  whom  ? 

Rich.  De  Mauprat. 

Joseph.  Penniless  husband  ? 

Rich.  Bah  !  the  mate  for  beauty 
Should  be  a  man  and  not  a  money-chest  I 
When  her  brave  sire  lay  on  his  bed  of  death, 
I  vowed  to  be  a  father  to  his  Julie  ; — 
And  when  he  died — the  smile  upon  his  lips  ! — 
And  when  I  spared  the  life  of  her  young  lover, 
Methought  I  saw  that  smile  again  ! — Who  else. 
Look  you,  in  all  the  court — who  else  so  well, 
Brave,  or  supplant  the  favourite  ; — balk  the  King — 
Baffle  their  schemes  ? — I  have  tried  him  : — he  has  honour 
And  courage  ;  qualities  that  eagle-plume 
Men's  soul's, — and  fit  them  for  the  fiercest  sun 
Which  ever  melted  the  weak  waxen  minds 
That  flutter  in  the  beams  of  gaudy  Power  ! 
Besides,  he  has  taste,  this  Mauprat : — When  my  play  was 
acted  to  dull  tiers  of  lifeless  gapers,  (3) 
Who  had  no  soul  for  poetry,  I  saw  him 
Applaud  in  the  proper  places  ;  trust  me,  Joseph, 
He  is  a  man  of  an  uncommon  promise  I 

Joseph.  And  yet  your  foe. 

Rich.  Have  I  not  foes  enow  ? — 
Great  men  gain  doubly  when  they  make  foes  friends. 
Remember  my  grand  maxims  ! — First  employ 
All  methods  to  conciliate.  (4) 

Joseph.  Failing  these  ? 

Rich.  (  fiercely.)  All  means  to  crush  ;  ag  with  the 
opening,  and  - 


26 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  L 


The  clenching  of  this  little  hand,  I  will 

Crush  the  small  venom  of  these  stinging  courtiers. 

So,  so,  we've  baffled  Baradas. 

Joseph.  And  when 
Check  the  conspiracy  ? 

Rich.  Check,  check  !    Full  way  to  it. 
Let  it  bud,  ripen,  flaunt  i'  the  day,  and  burst 
To  fruit — the  Dead  Sea's  fruit  of  ashes  ;  ashes 
Which  I  will  scatter  to  the  winds. 

Go  Joseph  ; 

When  you  return  I  have  a  feast  for  you — 
The  last  great  act  of  my  great  play  ;  the  verses, 
Methinks  are  fine, — ah,  very  fine. —  You  write 
Yerses  !  (5) — (aside)  such  verses  !    You  have  wit, 
discernment. 

Joseph,  (aside.)  Worse  than  the  scourge  1    Strange  that 
so  great  a  statesman 
Should  be  so  bad  a  poet. 
Rich.  What  dost  say  ? 

Joseph.  That  it  is  strange  so  great  a  statesman  should 
Be  so  sublime  a  poet. 

Rich.  Ah,  you  rogue  ; 
Laws  die  ;  books  never.    Of  my  ministry 
I  am  not  vain  ;  but  of  my  muse,  I  own  it. 
Come  you  shall  hear  the  verses  now.  ( Takes  up  a  MS. 

Joseph.  My  lord, 
The  deeds,  the  notaries  ! 

Rich.  True,  I  pity  you  ; 
But  business  first,  then  pleasure.  [Exit  Joseph 

Rich,  (seating  himself,  and  reading.  Ah,  sublime  I 

Enter  De  Mauprat  and  Julie. 

De  Maup.  Oh,  speak,  my  lord  1  I  dare  not  think 
you  mock  me. 
And  yet  

Rich.  Hush,  hush — this  line  must  be  considered  I 

Julie.  Are  we  not  both  your  children  ? 

Rich.  What  a  couplet  !  

How  now  !    Oh,  Sir — you  live  ! 

De  Maup.  Why,  no,  methinks, 
Elysium  is  not  life. 


Scene  IT.] 


RICHELIEU. 


Jvtie.  He  smiles  !  you  smile, 
My  father  !    From  my  hear  for  ever,  now, 
I'll  blot  the  name  of  orphan  ! 

Rich.  Rise,  my  children, 
For  ye  are  mine — mine  both  ;  and  in  your  sweet 
And  young  delight,  your  love — life's  first-born  glory,) 
My  own  lost  youth  breathes  musical  ! 

De  Maup.  I'll  seek 
Temple  and  priest  henceforward  : — were  it  but 
To  learn  Heaven's  choicest  blessings. 

Rich.  Thou  shalt  seek 
Temple  and  priest  right  soon  ;  the  morrow's  sun 
Shall  see  across  these  barren  thresholds  pass 
The  fairest  bride  in  Paris.    Go,  my  children  ; 

Even  /  loved  once  !  Be  lovers  while  ye  may. 

How  is  it  with  you,  Sir  ?    You  bear  it  bravely  : 
You  know  it  asks  the  courage  of  a  lion. 

[Exevmt  De  Mauprat  and  Julie. 

Oh,  godlike  Power  !    Wo,  Rapture,  Penury,  Wealth — 
Marriage  and  Death,  for  one  infirm  old  man 
Through  a  great  empire  to  dispense — withhold — 
As  the  will  whispers  !  And  shall  things,  like  motes 
That  live  in  my  daylight  ;  lackeys  of  court  wages, 
Dwarf 'd  starvelings  ;  manikins  upon  whose  shoulders 
The  burthen  of  a  province  were  a  load 
More  heavy  than  the  globe  on  Atlas — cast 
Lots  for  my  robes  and  sceptre  ?    France,  I  love  thee  ! 
All  earth  shall  never  pluck  thee  from  my  heart  ! 
My  mistress,  France  ;  my  wedded  wife,  sweet  France  ; 
Who  shall  proclaim  divorce  for  thee  and  me  ! 

[Exit.  RICHELIEU. 


END  OF  ACT  L 


2S 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  II 


ACT  II. 

/  SECOND  DAY. 

Scene  I. — A  splendid  Apartment  in  Mauprat's  new  House. 
Casements  opening  to  the  Gardens,  beyond  which  the  domes  of 
the  Luxembourg  Palace. 

Enter  Baradas, 

Bar.  Mauprat's  new  home  : — too  splendid  for  a 
soldier  I 

But  o'er  his  floors — the  while  I  stalk — methinks 

My  shadow  spreads  gigantic  to  the  gloom 

The  old  rude  towers  of  the  Bastile  cast  far 

Along  the  smoothness  of  the  jocund  day. 

Well,  thou  hast  'scaped  the  fierce  caprice  of  Richelieu  I 

But  art  thou  farther  from  the  headsman,  fool  ? 

Thy  secret  I  have  whisper'd  to  the  King  : 

Thy  marriage  makes  the  King  thy  foe.    Thou  stand'st 

On  the  abyss — and  in  the  pool  below 

I  see  a  ghastly,  headless  phantom  mirror'd  : 

Thy  likeness,  ere  the  marriage  moon  had  waned. 

Meanwhile — meanwhile — ha,  ha  1  if  thou  art  wedded, 

Thou  art  not  wived  ! 

Enter  Mauprat  {splendidly  dressed.) 

De  Maup.  Was  ever  fate  like  mine  ? — 
So  blessed,  and  yet  so  wretched  ! 

Bar.  Joy,  de  Mauprat ! 
Why,  what  a  brow,  man,  for  your  wedding-day  ! 

De  Maup.  Jest  not. — Distraction  ! 

Bar.  What !  your  wife  a  shrew 
Already  ?    Courage,  man — the  common  lot ! 

De  Maup.  Oh,  that  she  were  less  lovely,  or  less  loved  I 

Bar.  Riddles  again  ! 

De  Maup.  You  know  what  chanced  between 
The  Cardinal  and  myself. 
Bar.  This  morning  brought 


Scene  I.] 


RICHELIEU. 


29 


You  letter — faith,  a  strange  acdount !    I  laugh'd 
And  wept  at  once  for  gladness. 

De  Maup.  We  were  wed 
At  noon,  the  rite  performed,  came  hither — scarce 
Arrived,  when  

Bar.  Well  !  ■ 

De  Maup.  Wide  flew  the  doors,  and  lo  ! 
Messire  de  Beringhen.  and  this  epistle  ! 

Bar.  "lis  the  King's  hand  ! — the  royal  seal  ! 
De  Maup.  Read — read  1 

Bar.  (reading.)  "  Whereas  Adrien  de  Mauprat,  Colonel 
and  Chevalier  in  our  armies,  being  already  guilty  of  high 
treason,  by  the  seizure  of  our  town  of  Faviaux,  has  pre- 
sumed without  our  knowledge,  consent,  or  sanction,  to  con- 
nect himself  by  marriage  with  Julie  de  Mortemar,  a  wealthy 
orphan  attached  to  the  person  of  Her  Majesty,  without  our 
knowledge  or  consent. — We  do  hereby  proclaim  and  de- 
clare the  said  marriage  contrary  to  law.  On  penalty  of 
death,  Adrien  de  Mauprat  will  not  communicate  with  the 
said  Julie  de  Mortemar  by  word  or  letter,  save  in  the  pre- 
sence of  our  faithful  servant,  the  Sieur  de  Beringhen,  and 
then  with  such  respect  and  decorum  as  are  due  to  a  De- 
moiselle attached  to  the  Court  of  France,  until  such  time 
as  it  may  suit  our  royal  pleasure  to  confer  with  the  Holy 
Church  on  the  formal  annulment  of  the  marriage,  and  with 
our  Council  on  the  punishment  to  be  awarded  to  Messire 
de  Mauprat,  who  is  cautioned  for  his  own  sake,  to  preserve 
silence  as  to  our  injunction,  more  especially  to  Made- 
moiselle de  Mortemar.  Given  under  our  hand  and  seal  at 
the  Louvre.  LOUIS." 

Bar.  (returning  tlie  letter.)  Amazement! — Did  not 
Richelieu  say,  the  King 
Knew  not  your  crime  ? 

De  Maup.  He  said  so. 

Bar.  Poor  de  Mauprat  ! 
See  you  the  snare,  the  vengeance  worse  than  death 
Of  which  you  are  the  victim  ? 

DeMaup.  Ha! 

Bar.  (aside.)  It  works  ; 

(Julie  and  De  Beringhen  in  the  gardens.) 
You  have  not  sought  the  Cardinal  yet,  to  


30 


RICHELIEU. 


Act  II 


De  Maup.  No ! 
Scarce  yet  my  sense  awaken'd  from  the  shock  ! 
Now  I  will  see  him. 

Bar.  Hold — beware  !  Stir  not 
Till  we  confer  again, 

De  Maup.  Speak  out,  man  1 

Bai .  Hush  ! 

Your  wife  ! — De  Beringhen  ! — Be  on  your  guard — 

Obey  the  royal  orders  to  the  letter. 

I'll  look  around  your  palace.    By  my  troth, 

A  princely  mansion  ! 

De  Maup.  Stay  

Bar.  So  new  a  bridegroom 
Can  want  no  visitors. — Your  servant,  Madam, 
Oh,  happy  pair — oh,  charming  picture  ! 

[Exit  through  a  side  door. 

Julie,  Adrien, 
You  left  us  suddenly — are  you  not  well  ? 

De  Maup.  Oh,  very  well — that  is — extremely  ill. 

Julie.  Ill,  Adrien?  {taking  his  hand.) 

De  Maup.  Not  when  I  see  thee. 
(.He  is  about  to  lift  her  hand  to  his  lips,  when  De  Beringhen 

conghs,  and  pulls  his  mantle.    De  Mauprat  drops  t/ie  hand 

and  walks  away. ) 

Julie.  Alas  ! 
Should  he  not  love  me  ? 

De  Ber.  (aside.)  Have  a  care  :  I  must 
Report  each  word,  each  jesture  to  his  Majesty. 

De  Maup.  Sir,  if  you  were  not  in  his  Majesty's  service, 
You'd  be  the  most  officious,  impudent, 
Damn'd  busy-body  ever  interfering 
In  a  man's  family  affairs. 

De  Ber.  But  as 
I  do  belong,  sir,  to  his  Majesty  

De  Maup.  You're  lucky  ! — Still,  were  we  a  story  higher 
'Twere  prudent  not  to  go  too  near  the  window. 

Julie.  Adrien,  what  have  I  done  ?  Say  am  I  changed 
Since  yesterday  ? — or  was  it  but  for  wealth, 
Ambition,  life — that — that--you  swore  you  loved  me  ? 

De  Maup.  I  shall  go  mad  I    I  do,  indeed  I  do  


Scene  I.] 


RICHELIEU. 


31. 


De  Ber.  (aside.)  Not  love  her  !  that  were  highly  disre- 
spectful. 
Julie.  You  do — what,  Adrien  ? 

De  Maujp.  Oh  !  I  do,  indeed  

I  do  think  that  this  weather  is  delightful  ! 
A  charming  day  !  the  sky  is  so  serene  1 
And  what  a  prospect  ! — (  To  De  Beringhen.)  Oh  !  you  Pop 
injay  ! 

Julie.  He  jests  at  me  1 — he  mocks  me  ! — yet  I  love  him, 
And  every  look  becomes  the  lips  we  love  ! 
Perhaps  I  am  too  grave  ? — You  laugh  at  Julie  ; 
If  laughter  please  you,  welcome  be  the  music  1 
Only  say,  Adrien,  that  you  love  me. 

De  Maup  (kissing  her  hand.)  Ay  ; — 

With  my  whole  heart  I  love  you  !  

Now,  Sir,  go, 
And  tell  that  to  his  Majesty  ! — Who  ever 
Heard  of  its  being  a  state  offence  to  kiss 
To  kiss  the  hand  of  one's  own  wife  ! 

Julie.  He  says  he  loves  me, 
And  starts  away,  as  if  to  say  "  I  love  you" 
Meant  something  very  dreadful. — Come  sit  by  me — 
I  place  your  chair — fie  on  your  gallantry. 

They  sit  down ;  as  he  pishes  her  chair  back,  she  draws  hers 
nearer.) 

Julie.  Why  must  this  strange  Messire  De  Beringhen 
be  always  here  ?    He  never  takes  a  hint. 
Do  you  not  wish  him  gone  ? 

De  Maup.  Upon  my  soul 
I  do,  my  J ulie  ! — Send  him  for  your  bouquet, 
Your  glove,  your — anything — 

Julie.  Messire  De  Beringhen, 
I  dropped  my  glove  in  the  garden  by  the  fountain, 
Or  the  alcove,  or — stay — no,  by  the  statue 
Of  Cupid  ;  may  I  ask  you  to  

De  Beringhen.  To  send  for  it  ? 
Certainly,  (ringing  a  bell  on  the  table.)  Andre,  Pierre  (yon 

rascals — how 
Do  ye  call  them  ?) 

Enter  Servants. 
Ah — Madame  has  dropp'd  her  glove 


32 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  II 


In  the  gardens,  by  the  fountain,  or  the  alcove  ; 
Or — stay — no,  by  the  statue — eh  ? — of  Cupid 
Bring  it. 

De  Maup.  Did  ever  now  one  pair  of  shoulders 
Carry  such  wagon-loads  of  impudence 
Into  a  gentleman's  drawing-room  ? 

Dear  Julie, 

I'm  busy — letters — visitors — the  devil  1 

I  do  beseech  you  leave  me — I  say — leave  me 

Julie,  (weeping.)  You  are  unkind.  Exit. 

( As  she  goes  out,  Mauprat  drops  on  one  knee  and 
kisses  the  hem  of  her  mantle,  unseen  by  her.) 

De  Bering.  Ten  millions  of  apologies  

De  Maup.  I'll  not  take  one  of  them.  I  have  as  yet 
Withstood  all  things — my  heart — my  love — my  rights, 

But  Julie's  tears  I  When  is  this  farce  to  end  ? 

De  Bering.  Oh  !  when  you  please.    His  Majesty  re* 
quests  me. 

As  soon  as  you  infringe  his  gracious  orders, 
To  introduce  you  to  the  Governor 
Of  the  Bastile.    I  should  have  had  that  honour 
Before,  but,  'gad,  my  foible  is  good  nature  : 
One  can't  be  be  hard  upon  a  friend's  infirmities. 

De  Maup.  I  know  the  king  can  send  me  to  the  scaffold. 
Dark  prospect  ! — but  Pm  used  to  it  ;  and  if 
The  Church  and  Council  by  this  hour  to-morrow, 
One  way  or  the  other  settle  not  the  matter, 
I  Win  

De  Bering.  What,  my  dear  Sir  ? 

De  Maup.  Show  you  the  door, 
My  dear,  dear  Sir  ;  talk  as  I  please,  with  whom 
I  please,  in  my  own  house,  dear  Sir  !  until 
His  Majesty  shall  condescend  to  find 
A  stouter  gentleman  than  you,  dear  Sir, 
To  take  me  out  ;  and  now  you  understand  me, 
My  dear,  most  dear — Oh,  damnably  dear  Sir  ! 

De  Bering.  What,  almost  in  a  passion  !  you  will  cool 
Upon  reflection.    Well,  since  Madame's  absent, 
I'll  take  a  small  refreshment.    Now,  don't  stir  ; 
Be  careful  ; — how's  your  Burgundy  ? — I'll  taste  it— 


Scene  I. 


RICHELIEU. 


33 


Finish  it  all  before  I  leave  you.  Nay, 

No  form  ; — you  see  I  make  myself  at  home. 

Exit  De  Beringhen. 
Be  Maup.  (going  to  the  door   through  which  Baradas 
had  passed)  Baradas  !  Count  1 
Enter  Baradas. 
You  spoke  of  snares — of  vengeance 
Sharper  than  death — be  plainer. 
Bar.    What  so  clear  ? 
Richelieu  has  but  two  passions. 
De  Maup.  Richelieu  ! 
Bar.  Yes. 

Ambition  and  revenge — in  you  both  blended. 
First  for  ambition — Julie  is  his  ward. 
Innocent — docile — pliant  to  his  will — 
He  placed  her  at  the  court — foresaw  the  rest — 
The  King  loves  Julie  I 

Be  Maup.  Merciful  Heaven  !  The  King  ! 

Bar.  Such   Cupids  lend    new  plumes  to  Richelieu's 
wings  : 

But  the  court  etiquette  must  give  such  Cupids 
The  veil  of  Hymen — (Hymen  but  in  name.) 
He  looked  abroad — found  you  his  foe — thns  served 
Ambition — by  the  grandeur  of  his  ward, 
And  vengeance — by  dishonour  to  his  foe  ? 
Be  Maup.  Prove  this. 

Bar.  You  have  the  proof — the  royal  Letter  : — 
Your  strange  exemption  from  the  general  pardon, 
Known  but  to  me  and  Richelieu  ;  can  you  doubt 
You  friend,  to  acquit  your  foe  ?    The  truth  is  glaring — • 
Richelieu  alone  could  tell  the  princely  lover 
The  tale  which  sells  your  life, — or  buys  your  honour  ! 

Be  Maup.  I  see  it  all ! — Mock  pardon — hurried  nuptials  I 
False  bounty  ! — all ! — the  serpent  of  that  smile  ; 
Oh  !  it  stings  home  ! 

Bar.  You  shall  crush  his  malice  : 
Our  plans  are  sure  — Orleans  is  at  our  head  ; 
We  meet  to  night ;  join  us  and  with  us  triumph. 

Be   Maup  To-night! — Oh   Heaven  ! — my  marriage 
night  ! — Revenge  ! 

Bar.  "  What  classs  of  men  whose  white  lips  do  not  curse 


34 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  II 


w  The  grim,  insatiate,  universal  tyrant  ? 

"  We,  noble-born — where  are  our  atique  rights.  - 

"  Our  feudal  seignories — our  castled  strength, 

"  That  did  divide  us  from  the  base  Plebeians, 

"  And  made  our  swords  our  law — where  are  they  ? — trod 

"  To  dust — and  o'er  the  graves  of  our  dead  power 

"  Scaffolds  are  monuments- — the  Kingly  house 

"  Shorn  of  its  beams — the  Royal  Sun  of  France 

"  'Clipsed  by  this  blood-red  comet.    Where  we  turn, 

"  Nothing  but  Richelieu  ! — Armies — Church — State — Laws 

"  But  mirrors  that  do  multiply  his  beams. 

"  He  sees  all — acts  all — Argus  and  Briaraeus — 

"  Spy  at  our  boards — and  deathsman  at  our  hearths, 

"  Under  the  venom  of  one  laidley  nightshade, 

"  Wither  the  lilies  of  all  France. 

De  Maup.  (impatiently.)  "  But  Julie — 

JBaradas,  (unheeding  him.)  "  As  yet  the  Fiend  that  serves 
hath  saved  his  power 
"  From  every  snare  ;  and  in  the  epitaphs 
"  Of  many  victims  dwells  a  warning  moral 
"  That  preaches  caution.    Were  I  not  assured 
"  That  what  before  was  hope  is  ripen'd  now 
"  Into  most  certain  safety,  trust  me,  Mauprat, 
"  I  still  could  hush  my  hate  and  mark  thy  wrongs, 
"  And  say  "  Be  patient !"    Now,  the  King  himself 
"  Smiles  kindly  when  I  tell  him  that  his  peers 
"  Will  rid  him  his  Priest.    You  knit  your  brows, 
"  Noble  impatience  !    Pass  we  to  our  scheme  ! 
'Tis  Richelieu's  wont,  each  morn  within  his  chapel, 
(Hypocrite  worship  ended,)  to  dispense 
Alms  to  the  mendicant  friars, — in  that  guise 
A  band  (yourself  the  leader)  shall  surround 
And  seize  the  despot 

De  Maup.  But  the  King  ?  but  Julie  ? 

Bar.    The  King  ?  infirm  in  health,  in  mind  more  feeble; 
Is  but  the  playing  of  a  Minister's  will. 
Were  Richelieu  dead,  his  powers  were  mine  ;  and  Louis 
Soon  should  forget  his  passsion  and  your  crime. 
But  whither  now  ? 

De  Maup.  I  know  not ;  I  scarce  hear  thee  ; 
A  little  while  for  thought :  anon  I'll  join  thee  j 


Scene  I.] 


RICHELIEU. 


35 


But  now,  all  air  seems  tainted,  and  I  loathe 

The  face  of  man  !  [Exit  De  Mauprat  through  the  gardens 

Bar.  Start  from  the  chase,  my  prey  ! 
But  as  thou  speed'st,  the  hell-hounds  of  Revenge 
Pant  in  thy  track  and  dog  thee  down. 

Enter  De  Beringhen,  his  mouth  full  a  napkin  in  his  hand. 

De  Ber  Chevalier, 
Your  cook's  a  miracle, — what  my  Host  gone  ? 
Faith,  Count,  my  office  is  a  post  of  danger  ; 
A  fiery  fellow,  Mauprat !  touch  and  go, — 
Match  and  saltpetre, — pr-r-r-r  ! 

Bar.  You 

Will  be  released  ere  long.    The  king  resolves 
To  call  the  bride  to  court  this  day. 

De  Ber.  Poor  Mauprat ! 
Yet,  since  you  love  the  lady,  why  so  careless 
Of  the  King's  suit  ! 

Bar.  Because  the  lady's  virtuous, 
And  the  king  timid.    Ere  he  win  the  suit 
He'll  lose  the  crown, — the  bride  will  be  a  widow — 
And  I — the  Richelieu  of  the  Regent  Orleans. 

De  Ber.  Is  Louis  still  so  chafed  against  the  Fox, 
From  snatching  yon  fair  dainty  from  the  Lion  ! 

Bar.  So  chafed  that  Richelieu  totters.    Yes,  the  King, 
Is  half  conspiring  against  the  Cardinal. 
Enough  of  this.    I've  found  the  man  we  wanted, — 
The  man  to  head  the  hands  that  murder'd  Richelieu, — 
The  man,  whose  name  the  synoneme  for  daring. 

De  Ber.  He  must  mean  me  !  No'  Count,  I  am,  I  own, 
A  valiant  dog — but  still — 

Bar.  Whom  can  I  mean 
But  Maupret  ? — Mark,  to-night  we  meet  at  Marion's, 
There  shall  we  sign  :  thence  send  this  scroll  {showing  it) 
to  Bouillon. 

You're  in  that  secret  {affectionately)  one  of  our  new  Coun- 
cil. 

De  Ber.  But  to  admit  the  Spaniard — France's  foe. 
Into  the  heart  of  France, — dethrone  the  King  1 
It  looks  like  treason,  and  I  smell  the  headsman. 

Bar.  Oh,  Sir  too  late  to  falter  ;  when  we  meet 


3fi 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act.  II 


We  must  arrange  the  separate,  coarser  scheme, 
For  Richelieu's  death.    Of  this  despatch  De  Mauprat 
Must  nothing  learn.    He  only  bites  at  vengeance,  m 
And  he  would  start  from  treason.    We  must  post  him 
Without  the  door  at  Marion's — as  a  sentry 
{Aside) — So,  when  his  head  is  on  the  block — his  tongue 
Cannot  betray  our  more  august  designs  ! 
De  Ber.  I'll  meet  you,  if  the  King  can  spare  me.  ( Aside.} 
—No  ! 

I  am  too  old  a  goose  to  play  with  foxes, 

I'll  roost  at  home.    Meanwhile,  in  the  next  room 

There's  a  delicious  pate,  let's  discuss  it. 

Bar.  Pshaw  !  a  man  filled  with  a  sublime  ambition 
Has  no  time  to  discuss  your  pates. 

DeBer.  Pshaw. 
And  a  man  filled  with  a  sublime  as  pate. 
Has  no  time  to  discuss  ambition. — Gad, 
I  have  the  best  of  it ! 

Enter  Julie  hastily  with  first  Courtier. 

Julie  (to  Courtier).  A  summons,  Sir, 
To  attend  the  Louvre  ? — On  this  day,  too  ? 

Courtier.  Madame. 
The  royal  carriage  waits  below. — ( To  De  Beringhen.) 
You  will  return  with  us. 

Julie.  What  can  this  mean  ? — 
Where  is  my  husband  ? 

Bar.  He  has  left  the  house 
Perhaps  till  nightfall — so  he  bade  me  tell  you. 
Alas,  were  I  the  lord  of  such  fair  treasure — 

Julie  (impatiently.     Till  nightfall  ? — Strange — my  heart 
missgives  me  ! 

Cour  Madame, 
My  orders  will  not  brook  delay. 

Julia  (to  Baradas.)    You'll  see  him — 
And  you  will  tell  him  ! 

Bar.  From  the  flowers  of  Hybla 
Never  more  gladly  did  the  bee  bear  honey, 
Than  I  take  a  sweetness  from  those  rosiest  lips, 
Though  to  the  hive  of  others  ! 

Cour.  {to  De  Berinc-hen.  Come,  Messire, 


Scene  L] 


RICHELIEU. 


3? 


De  Ber.  {hesitating.)  One  moment,  just  to — ■ 

Cour.  Come,  Sir. 

De  Ber.  I  shall  not. 
Discuss  the  the  pate  after  all.  'Ecod, 
I'm  puzzled  now.    I  don't  know  who's  the  best  of  it ! 

Exeunt  Julie,  De  Beringhen,  and  Courtier. 

Bar.  Now  this  will  fire  his  fever  into  madness  ! 
All  is  made  clear  ;  Mauprat  must  murder  Richelieu — 
Die  for  that  crime  : — I  shall  console  his  J ulie — 
This  will  reach  Bouillon  ! — from  the  wrecks  of  France 
I  shall  crave  out — who  knows — perchance  a  throne  1 
All  in  despite  of  my  Lord  Cardinal. 

Enter  De  MAUPRET/row  the  gardens. 
De  Mauprat.  Speak  !  can  it  be  ? — Methought  that  from 
the  terrace 

I  saw  the  carriage  of  the  King — and  Julie  1 
No  ! — no  ! — my  frenzy  peoples  the  void  air 
With  its  own  phantoms  ! 

Bar  Nay,  too  true. — Alas  ! 
Was  ever  lightning  swifter,  or  more  blasting, 
Than  Richelieu's  forked  guide  ? 

De  Jb'Iaup.  I'll  to  the  Louvre  

Bar.  And  lose  all  hope  !    The  Louvre  ! — the  sure 
gate 
To  the  Bastile  ! 

DeMaup.  The  King. 

Bar.  Is  but  the  wax, 
Which  Richelieu  stamps  ?    Break  the  malignant  seal, 
And  I  will  raze  the  print.    Come,  man,  take  heart  I 
Her  virtue  well  could  brave  a  sterner  trial 
Than  a  few  hours  of  cold  imperious  courtship. 
Where  Richelieu  dust — no  danger  1 

De  Maup.    Ghastly  Yengeance  ! 
To  thee  and  thine  angust  solemn  sister, 
The  unrelenting  Death  !  I  dedicate 
The  blood  of  Armaud  Richelieu  !    When  Dishonour 
Reaches  our  hearths  Law  dies  and  Murder  takes 
The  angel  shape  of  Justice  ! 

Bar.  Bravely  said  ! 
A.t  midnight,  Marion's  I — Nay,  I  cannot  leave  thee 


38 


RICHELIEU. 


To  thoughts  that  

De  Waup.  Speak  not  to  me  I — I  am  jours  ! 
But  speak  not  !    There's  a  voice  within  my  soul,  - 
Whose  cry  could  drown  the  thunder.    Oh  1  if  men 
Will  play  dark  sorcery  with  the  heart  of  man, 
Let  them,  who  raise  the  spell,  beware  the  fiend  ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — A  room  in  the  Palais  Cardinal  (as  the  first 

Act). 

Richelieu  and  Joseph. 
Francois,  writing  at  a  table. 

Joseph.    Yes  ; — Huguet,  taking  his  accustomed  round, — 
Disguised  as  some  plain  burgher, — heard  these  ruflflers 
Quoting  your  name  : — he  listened — 14  Pshaw  1"  said  one, 

M  We  are  to  seize  the  Cardinal  in  his  palace 
To-morrow  !"— "  How?"   the  other  ask'd  ;— "  You'll  hear 
The  whole  design  to-night :  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
And  Baradas  have  got  the  map  of  action 
At  their  fingers'  end" — "  So  be  it,"  quoth  the  other, 
"I  will  be  there, — Marion  de  Lorme's — at  midnight  I" 

Rich.  I  have  them,  man,  I  have  them  ! 

Jos.  So  they  say 
Of  you,  my  Lord  ; — believe  me,  that  their  plans 
Are  mightier  than  you  deem.    You  must  employ 
Means  no  less  vast  to  meet  them  1 

Rich.  Bah  !  in  policy 
We  foil  gigantic  danger,  not  by  giants, 

But  dwarfs.  The  statues  of  our  stately  fortune 

Are  sculptured  by  the  chisel— not  the  axe  !  (1) 
Ah  !  were  I  younger — by  the  knightly  heart 
That  beats  between  these  priestly  robes,  (2)  I  would 
Have  pastime  with  these  cut-throats  !  Yea,  as  when, 
Lured  to  the  ambush  of  the  expecting  foe, 
I  clove  my  pathway  through  the  plumed  sea  ! 
Reach  me  you  falchion,  Francois — not  that  bauble 
For  carpet-warriors — yonder — such  a  blade 
As  old  Charles  Martel  might  have  wielded, 
He  drove  the  Saracen  from  France 


I 


Scene  II.]  richelieu.  39 

(Francois  brings  him  one  of  the  long  two-handed  swords  worn 
in  the  middle  ages.) 

With  this, 
I,  at  Rochelle,  did  hand  to  hand  engage 
The  stalwart  Englisher — no  mongrels,  boy, 
Those  island  mastiffs  ! — mark  the  notch,  a  deep  one 
His  casque  made  here, — I  shore  him  to  the  waist  ! 
A  toy — a  feather,  then  !    ( Tries  to  wield  and  lets  it  fall.) 

You  see,  a  child  could 
Slay  Richelieu  now. 

Francois  (his  hand  on  his  hilt).    But  now,  at  your 
command 
Are  other  weapons  good  my  lord. 

Rich,  (who  has  seated  himself  as  to  write,  lifts  the  pen). 
True  this  ! 
Beneath  the  rule  of  men  entirely  great 
The  pen  is  mightier  than  the  sword.  Behold 
The  arch  enchanter's  wand  — itself  a  nothing  ! 
By  taking  sorcery  from  the  master  hand 
To  paralyze  the  Caesars,  and  to  strike 
The  loud  earth  breathless  !    Take  away  the  sword — 
States  can  be  saved  without  it !    (Looking  on  the  clock). 

;Tis  the  hour — 
Retire,  sir.  [Exit  Francois. 

A  knock — a  door,  concealed  in  the  arras,  opens  cautiously 
Enter  Marion  de  Lorme. 

Joseph  (amazed).  Marion  de  Lorme  ! 

Rich.  Hist  !  Joseph 
Keep  guard. 

(Joseph  retires  to  the  principal  entrance.) 
My  faithful  Marion  ! 

Marion.  Good  my  lord, 
They  meet  to-night  in  my  poor  honse.    The  Duke 
Of  Orleans  heads  them. 

Rich.  Yes  ;  go  on. 

Marion.  His  Highness 
Much  question' d  if  I  knew  some  brave,  discreet, 
And  vigilant  man,  whose  tongue  could  keep  a  secret, 
And  who  had  those  twin  qualities  for  service, 
The  love  of  gold,  the  hate  of  Richelieu. 


40 


RICHELIEU. 


Rich.  You  

Marion.  Made  me  answer,  "  Yes,  my  brother"; — bold  and 

trusty  : 

Whose  faith,  my  faith  could  pledge  f — The  Duke  then  bade 
me 

Have  him  equipp'd  and  arm'd — well  mounted — ready 
This  night  to  part  for  Italy. 

Rich.  Aha  ! — 
Has  Bouillon  too  turn'd  traitor  ? — So  methought  ! 
What  part  of  Italy  ? 

Marion.  The  Piedmont  frontier, 
Where  Bouillon  lies  encamp'd. 

Rich.  Now  there  is  danger  I 
Great  danger  !    If  he  tamper  with  the  Spaniard, 
And  Louis  list  not  to  my  council,  as, 
Without  sure  proof  he  will  not,  France  is  lost  I 
What  more  ! 

Marion.  Dark  hints  of  some  design  to  seize 
Your  person  in  your  palace.    Nothing  clear — 
His  Highness  trembled  while  he  spoke  ; — the  words 
Did  choke  each  other. 

Rich.  So  !  Who  is  the  brother, 
You  recommended  to  the  Duke  ? 

Marion.  Whoever 
Your  eminence  may  father  ! 

Rich.  Darling  Marion  !  (3) 

[Goes  to  the,  table,  and  returns  with  a  large  bag  of  gold.] 
There — pshaw — trifle  !    What  an  eye  you  have  ! 
And  what  a  smile,  child  ! — (kisses  her.) — Ah  you  fair 

perdition — 
'Tis  well  I'm  old  ? 

Marion  (aside  and  seriously).     What  a  great  man  he  is  ! 

Rich.  You  are  sure  they  meet  ? — the  hour  ? 

Marion.  At  midnight. 

Rich.  And 

You  will  engage  to  give  the  Duke's  despatch. 
To  whom  I  send  ? 

Marion.  Ay,  marry  ! 

Rich,  (aside.)  Huguet?  No; 
He  will  be  wanted  elsewhere.    Joseph  ? — zealous. 
But  too  well  known — too  much  the  elder  brother 


Scene  II.] 


RICHELIEU 


41 


Manprat  ? — alas  !  his  wedding  day  ! 

Francois  ? — the  Man  of  Men  ! — unnoted — young — 

Ambitious — (goes  to  the  door) — Francois  ! 

Enter  Francois. 

Rick.  Follow  this  fair  lady  : 
(Find  him  the  suiting  garments,  Marion  ;)  take 
My  fleetest  steed  :  arm  thyself  to  the  teeth  ; 
A  packet  will  be  given  you,  with  orders, 
No  matter  what  !    The  instant  that  your  hand 
closes  upon  it — clutch  it,  like  your  honour, 
Which  death  alone  can  steal,  or  ravish  ;  set 
Spurs  to  your  steed — be  breathless,  till  you  stand 
Again  before  me.    Stay,  Sir  !    You  will  find  me 
Two  short  leagues  hence — at  Ruelle,  in  my  castle. 
Young  man,  be  blithe  !  for — note  me — from  the  hour 
I  grasp  that  packet,  think  your  guardian  star 
Rains  fortune  on  you  ! 

Fran.  If  I  fail— 

Rich.  Fail — 
In  the  lexicon  of  youth,  which  Fate  reserves 
For  a  bright  manhood,  there  is  no  such  word 
As— -fail ! — You  will  instruct  him  further,  Marion. 
Follow  her — but  at  distance  ; —  speak  not  to  her, 
Till  you  are  housed  ; — Farewell,  boy  !  Never  say 

"  Fail"  again. 

Fran.  I  will  not  ! 

Rich,  (patting  his  locks. )  There  is  my  young  hero  I 

Exeunt  Francois  and  Marion. 
Rich.  So,  they  would  seize  my  person  in  this  place  ? 
I  cannot  guess  their  scheme  : — but  my  retinue 
Is  here  too  large  ! — a  single  traitor  could 
Strike  impotent  the  fate  of  thousands  ; — Joseph 
Art  sure  of  Huguet  ? — Think — we  hang'd  his  father  ! 
Joseph.  But  you  have  bought  his  son  ; — heap'd  favors  on 
him  ! 

Rich.  Trash  ! — favours  past — that's  nothing  I  In  his  hours 
Of  confidence  with  you,  has  he  named  the  favours 
To  come  he  counts  on  ? 

Joseph.  Yes  — a  Colonel's  rank, 
And  Letters  of  Nobility. 

Rich.  What  Huguet ! 


42 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  II 


{Here  Huguet  enters,  as  to  address  the  Cardinal,  who  does  not 
perceive  him. ) 

Hvguet.  My  own  name  soft  ! — [glides  behind  the  screen. 

Rich.  Colonel  and  Nobleman  ! 
My  bashful  Huguet — that  can  never  be  ! — 
We  have  him  not  the  less — we'll  promise  it ! 
And  see  the  King  withholds  ! — Ah,  kings  are  oft 
A  great  convenience  to  a  minister  ! 
No  wrong  to  Huguet  either  ! — Moralists 
Say,  Hope  is  sweeter  than  possession  ! — Yes — 
We'll  count  on  Puguet !  Favours  prst  do  gorge 
Our  dogs  ;  leave  service  drowsy — dull  to  the  scent, 
Slacken  the  speed  ; — favours  to  come,  my  Joseph, 
Produce  a  lusty,  hungry  gratitude, 
A  ravenous  zeal,  that  of  the  commonest  cur 
Would  make  a  Cerberus.    You  are  right,  this  treason. 
Assumes  a  fearful  aspect: — but  once  crush'd, 
Its  very  ashes  shall  manure  the  soil 
Of  power  ;  and  ripen  such  full  sheaves  of  greatness, 
That  all  the  summer  of  my  fate  shall  seem 
Fruitless  beside  the  autumn  ! 

[Huguet  holds  up  his  hand  menacingly,  and  creeps  out. 

Joseph.  The  saints  grant  it  1 

Rich,  (solemnly.)  Yes — for  sweet  France,  Heaven  grant 
it ! — 0  my  country, 
For  thee — thee — only — though  men  deem  it  not — 
Are  toil  and  terror  my  familiars  ! — I 
Have  made  thee  great  and  fair — upon  thy  brows 
Wreath'd  the  old  Roman  laurel : — at  thy  feet 
Bow'd  nations  down. — No  puse  in  my  ambition 
Whose  beatings  were  not  measured  from  thy  heart  ! 
"  In  the  old  times  before  us,  patriots  lived 
"  And  died  for  liberty — 

Joseph.  "  As  you  would  live 
And  die  for  despotry — 

Rich.  "  False  monk,  not  so  ! 
"  Not  for  the  purple  and  the  power  wherein 
"  State  clothes  herself, — I  love  my  native  land — 
"  Not  as  Venetian  Englisher,  or  Swiss, 
'*  But  as  a  Noble  and  a  Priest  of  France  ; 
u  All  things  for  France' — lo,  my  eternal  maxim  ! 


Scene  II.] 


RICHELIEU. 


43 


"  The  vital  axle  of  the  restless  wheels 

"  That  bear  me  on  !    "With  her  I  have  entwined 

"  My  passions  and  my  fate — my  crimes,  my  virtues — 

"  Hated  and  loved,  (4)  and  schemed,  and  shed  men's  blood 

"  As  the  calm  crafts  of  Tuscan  sages  teach 

"  Those  who  would  make  their  country  great.  Beyond 

"  The  map  of  France,  my  heart  can  travel  not, 

"  But  fills  that  limit  to  the  farthest  verge  ; 

"  And  while  I  live — Richelieu  and  France  are  one." 

We  priests,  to  whom  the  Church  forbids  in  youth 

The  plighted  one — to  manhood's  toil  denies 

The  soother  helpmate — from  our  wither'd  age 

Shuts  the  sweet  blossoms  of  the  second  spring 

That  smiles  in  the  name  Father — we  are  yet 

Not  holier  than  humanity,  and  must 

Fulfil  humanity's  condition — Love  ! 

Debarred  the  Actual,  we  but  breathe  a  life 

To  chill  the  marble  of  the  Ideal — Thus, 

In  the  unseen  and  abstract  Majesty, 

My  France — my  Country,  I  have  bodied  forth 

A  thing  to  love.    What  are  these  robes  of  state 

This  pomp,  this  palace  ?  perishable  baubles  I 

In  this  world  two  things  only  are  immortal — 

Fame  and  a  People  ! 

Enter  Huguet 

Huguet.  My  Lord  Cardinal, 
Your  eminence  bade  me  seek  you  at  this  hour. 

Hick.  Did  I  ? — True,  Huguet. — So — you  overheard 
Strange  talk  amongst  these  gallants    Snares  and  traps 
For  Richelieu  ? — Well — we'll  balk  them  ;  let  me  think — 
The  men  at  arms  you  head — how  many  ? 

Huguet.  Twenty,  (5) 
My  Lord. 

Mich.  All  trusty  ! 

Huguet.  Yes,  for  ordinary 
Occasions — if  for  great  ones,  I  would  change 
Three-fourths  at  least  ? 

Rich.  Ay,  what  are  great  occasions  ? 

Huguet.  Great  bribes  1 

Rich,  {to  Joseph).  Good  lack,  he  knows  some  paragons 
Superior  to  great  bribes  ! 


44 


RICHELIEU. 


Act  A_ 


Huguet.  True  gentlemen, 
Who  have  transgressed  the  laws — and  value  life.. 
And  lack  not  gold  ;  your  eminence  alone 
Can  grant  them  pardon.    Ergo  you  can  trust  them  I 

RicJi.  Logic  ! — So  be  it— let  this  honest  twenty 
Bearni'dand  mounted. — {Aside.)  So  they  meet  at  midnight, 
The  attempt  on  me  to-morrow — Ho  !  we'll  strike 
'Twixt  wind  and  water. — {Aloud.)   Does  it  need  much  time 
To  find  these  ornaments  to  Human  Nature  ? 

Huguet.  My  Lord  the  trustiest  are  not  birds 
That  love  the  daylight. — I  do  know  a  haunt 
Where  they  meet  nightly. 

RicJi.  Ere  the  dawn  be  grey, 
All  could  be  arin'd,  assembled,  and  at  Ruelle 
In  my  old  hall  ? 

Huguet.  By  one  hour  after  midnight. 

Rich.  The  castle's  strong.     You  know  its  outlets,  Hu- 
guet ? 

Would  twenty  men,  well  posted,  keep  such  guard 
That  not  one  step — (and  Murder's  step  is  stealthy) — 
Could  glide  within  unseen  ? 

Huguet.  A  triple  wall — 
A  drawbridge  and  portcullis — twenty  men — 
Under  my  lead,  a  month  might  hold  that  castle 
Against  a  host. 

Rich.  They  do  not  strike  till  morning, 
Yet  I  will  shift  the  quarter — bid  the  grooms 
Prepare  the  litter — 1  will  hence  to  Ruelle 
While  day-light  last — and  one  hour  after  midnight 
You  and  your  twenty  saints  shall  seek  me  thither  ! 
You're  made  to  rise  !  You  are,  Sir  ; — eyes  of  lynx 
Ears  of  the  stag,  a  footfall  like  the  snow  ; 
You  are  a  valiant  fellow  ; — yea,  a  trusty, 
Religious,  exemplary,  incorrupt, 
And  precious  jewel  of  a  fellow,  Huguet ! 

Tf  I  live  long  enough, — ay,  mark  my  words  

If  I  live  long  enough,  you'll  be  a  Colonel  

Noble,  perhaps  1 — One  hour,  Sir,  after  midnight. 

Hug.  You  leave  me  dumb  with  gratitude,  my  lord  ; 
I'll  pick  the  trustiest  {aside)  Marion's  house  can  furnish  I 

[Exit  Huguet. 


Scene  II.] 


RICHELIEU. 


45 


Rich.  How  like  a  spider  shall  I  sit  in  my  hole, 
And  watch  the  meshes  tremble. 

Jos.  But,  my  lord, 
Were  it  not  wiser  still  to  man  the  palace, 
And  seize  the  traitors  in  the  act  ? 

Rich.  No  ;  Louis, 
Long  chafed  against  me — Julie  stolen  from  him, 
Will  rouse  him  more.    He'll  say  I  hatch'd  the  treason, 
Or  scout  my  charge  ; — He  half  desires  my  death  : 
But  the  despatch  to  Bouillon,  some  dark  scheme 
Against  his  crown — there  is  our  weapon  Joseph  I 
With  that  all  safe — without  it  all  is  peril  I 
Meanwhile  to  my  old  castle  ;  you  to  court 
Diving  with  careless  eyes  into  men's  hearts, 
As  ghostly  churchmen  should  do  !    See  the  King, 
Bid  him  peruse  that  sage  and  holy  treatise, 
Wherein  'tis  set  forth  how  a  Premier  should 
Be  chosen  from  the  Priesthood — how  the  King, 
Should  never  listen  to  a  single  charge 
Against  his  servant,  nor  conceal  one  whisper 
That  rank  envies  of  a  court  distil 
Into  his  ear — to  fester  the  fair  name 
Of  my — I  mean  his  Minister  ! — 0  !  Joseph, 
A  most  convincing  treatise.  (6) 
Good — all  favours,  — 
If  Francois  be  but  bold,  and  Huguet  honest. — 
Huguet — I  half  suspect — he  bow'd  too  low — 
>Tis  not  his  way. 

Jos.  This  is  the  curse,  my  lord 
Of  your  high  state  ;  suspicion  of  all  men. 
Rich,  {sadly).    True  ;  true  ;  my  leeches  bribed  to  poison 
pages 

To  strangle  me  in  sleep — my  very  King 
(This  brain  the  unresting  loom,  from  which  was  woven 
The  purple  of  his  greatness)  leagued  against  me — 
Old — childless — friendless — broken — all  forsake- 
All— all— but— 
Jos.  What? 

Rich.  The  indomitable  heart 
Of  Armand  Richelieu  ! 
Jos.  Nought  beside  ? 


46 


RICHELIEU. 


Rich.  Why  Julie, 
My  own  dear  foster-child,  forgive  me  !  Yes  ; 
This  morning,  shining  through  their  happy  tears, 
Thy  soft  eyes  bless'd  me  ! — and  thy  Lord, — in  danger 
Me  would  forsake  me  not. 

Jos.  And  Joseph  

Rich,  {after  a  pause).  You  

Yes,  I  believe  you — yes  ;  for  all  men  fear  you — 

And  the  world  loves  you  not.    And  I  friend  Joseph, 

I  am  the  only  man,  who  could,  my  Joseph, 

Make  you  a  Bishop.  (7)  Come  we'll  go  to  dinner, 

And  talk  the  while  of  methods  to  advance 

Our  Mother  Church.  (8)  Ah,  Joseph — Bishop  Joseph  f 

[Exeunt 

END  OF  ACT  II. 


ACT  III. 

SECOND  DAY.  MIDNIGHT 

Scene  I. — Richelieu'' s  Castle  at  Ruelk — A  gothic  chamber — 
Moonlight  at  the  window  occaiionally  obscured. 

Rich,  {reading)  [1.]  "In  silence,  and  at  night  the  con 

science  feels 

That  life  should  soar  to  nobler  ends  than  Power." 
So  say  est  thou,  sage  and  sober  moralist ! 
But  wert  thou  tried  ?    Sublime  Philosophy, 
Thou  art  the  Patriach's  ladder,  reaching  heaven, 
And  bright  with  beck'ning  angels,  but  alas  ! 
We  see  thee  like  the  Patriarch,  but  in  dreams, 
By  the  first  step — dull-slumbering  on  the  earth. 
I  am  not  happy  !  with  the  Titan's  lust 
I  woo'd  a  goddess,  and  I  clasp  a  cloud 
When  I  am  dust,  my  name  shall,  like  a  star 


In  this  soliloquy  the  lines  from  29  to  i9  are  spoken  on  the  stage. 


Scene  I.] 


RICHELIEU 


Shine  through  wan  space,  a  glory — and  a  prophet 

Whereby  pale  seers  shall  from  their  aery  towers 

Con  all  the  ominous  signs,  benign  or  evil, 

That  make  the  potent  astrologue  of  kings. 

But  shall  the  Future  judge  me  by  the  ends 

That  I  have  wrought,  or  by  the  dubious  means 

Through  which  the  stream  of  my  renown  hath  run 

Into  the  many-voiced  unfathomed  Time  ? 

Foul  in  its  bed  lie  weeds — and  heaps  of  slime, 

And  with  its  waves — when  sparkling  in  the  sun, 

Oft  times  the  secret  rivulets  that  swell 

Its  might  of  waters — blend  the  hues  of  blood. 

Yet  are  my  sins  not  those  of  circumstance, 

That  all-pervading  atmosphere,  wherein 

Our  spirits,  like  the  unsteady  lizzard,  take 

The  tints  that  colour,  and  the  food  that  nurtures  ? 

O  !  ye,  whose  hour-glass  shifts  its  tranquil  sands 

In  the  unvex'd  silence  of  a  student's  cell ; 

Ye,  whose  untempted  hearts  have  never  toss'd 

Upon  the  dark  and  stormy  tides  where  life 

Gives  battle  to  the  elements, — and  man 

"Wrestles  with  man  for  some  slight  plank,  whose  weight 

Will  bear  but  one— while  round  the  desperate  wretch 

The  hungry  billows  roar— and  the  fierce  Fate 

Like  some  huge  monster,  dim-seen  through  the  surf, 

Waits  him  who  drops  ; — ye  safe  and  formal  men, 

Who  write  the  deeds  and  with  unfeverish  hand 

Weigh  in  nice  scales  the  motives  of  the  great, 

Ye  cannot  know  what  ye  have  never  tried  ! 

History  preserves  only  the  fleshless  bones 

Of  what  we  are — and  by  the  mocking  skull 

The  would-be  wise  pretend  to  guess  the  features  I 

Without  the  roundness  and  the  glow  of  life 

How  hideous  is  the  skeleton  !  Without 

The  colourings  and  humanities  that  clothe 

Our  errors,  the  anatomists  of  schools 

Can  make  our  memory  hideous  I 

I  have  wrought 
Great  uses  out  of  evil  tools — and  they 
In  the  time  to  come  may  bask  beneath  the  light 
Which  I  have  stolen  from  the  angry  gods, 


48 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  III 


And  warn  their  sons  against  the  glorious  theft, 

Forgetful  of  the  darkness  which  it  broke, 

I  have  shed  blood — but  I  have  had  no  foes 

Save  those  the  State  had  (2) — if  my  wrath  was  deadlj. 

'Tis  that  I  felt  my  country  in  my  veins, 

And  smote  her  sons  as  Brutus  smote  his  own.  (3) 

And  yet  I  am  not  happy — blanch'd  and  sear'd 

Before  my  time — breathing  an  air  of  hate, 

And  seeing  daggers  in  the  eyes  of  men, 

And  wasting  powers  that  shake  the  thrones  of  earth 

In  contest  with  the  insects — bearding  kings 

And  braved  by  lackies  (4) — murder  at  my  bed  ; 

And  lone  amidst  the  multitudinous  web, 

"With  the  dread  Three — that  are  the  fates  who  hold 

The  woof  and  shears — the  Monk,  the  Spy,  the  Headsman. 

And  this  is  Power  !  Alas  !  I  am  not  happy.  {After  a  pause.) 

And  yet  the  Nile  is  fretted  by  the  weeds 

Its  rising  roots  not  up  :  but  never  yet 

Did  one  last  barrier  by  a  ripple  vex 

My  onward  tide,  unswept  in  sport  away. 

Am  I  so  ruthless  then  that  I  do  hate 

Them  who  hate  me  ?    Tush,  tush  !  I  do  not  hate  ; 

Nay,  I  forgive.    The  Statesman  writes  the  doom, 

But  the  Priest  sends  the  blessing.    I  forgive  them, 

But  I  destroy  ;  forgiveness  is  mine  own. 

Destruction  is  the  State's  !    For  private  life. 

Scripture  the  guide — for  public,  Machiavel. 

Would  Fortune  serve  me  if  the  Heoven  were  worth  ? 

For  chance  makes  half  my  greatness.    I  was  born 

Beneath  the  aspect  of  a  bright-eyed  star, 

And  my  triumphant  adamant  of  soul 

Is  but  the  fix'd  persuasion  of  success. 

Ah  ! — here  ! — that  spasm — again  !    How  Life  and  Death 

Do  wrestle  for  me  momently  !    And  yet 

The  King  looks  pale.    I  shall  outlive  the  King  ! 

And  then,  thou  insolent  Austrian — who  didst  gibe 

At  the  ungainly,  gaunt,  and  daring  lover,  (5) 

Sleeking  thy  looks  to  silken  Buckingham, — 

Thou  shalt — no  matter  !    I  have  outlived  love. 

O  !  beautiful — all  golden — gentle  youth  ! 

Making  thy  palace  in  the  careless  front 


Scene  I.] 


RICHELIEU. 


49 


And  hopeful  eye  of  man — ere  yet  the  soul 

Hath  lost  the  memories  which  (so  Plato  dream'd) 

Breath'd  glory  from  the  earlier  star  it  dwelt  in — 

O  !  for  one  gale  from  thine  exulting  morning, 

Stirring  amidst  the  roses,  where  of  old 

Love  shook  the  dew-drops  from  his  glancing  hair  ! 

Could  I  recall  the  past — or  had  not  set 

The  prodigal  treasures  of  the  bankrupt  soul 

In  one  slight  bark  upon  the  shoreless  sea  j 

The  yoked  steer,  after  his  day  of  toil, 

Forgets  the  goad  and  rests — to  me  alike 

Or  day  or  night.    Ambition  has  no  rest  ! 

Shall  I  resign  ? — Who  can  resign  himself  ? 

For  custom  is  ourself  !    As  drink  and  food 

Become  our  bone  and  flesh — the  aliments 

Nurturing  our  nobler  part,  the  mind — thoughts,  dreams, 

Passions  and  aims,  in  the  revolving  cycle 

Of  the  great  alchemy — at  length  are  made 

Our  mind  itself !  and  yet  the  sweets  of  leisure — 

An  honoured  home — far  from  these  base  intrigues — 

An  eyrie  on  the  heaven-kiss'd  heights  of  wisdom — 

(  Taking  up  the  book. 
Speak  to  me,  moralist  1  I'll  heed  thy  counsel. 
Were  it  not  best — — — 

Enter  Francois  hastily,  and  in  part  disguised. 

Richelieu  (flinging  away  the  book.)    Philosophy,  thou 
liest  ! 

Quick — the  despatch  ! — Power — Empire  1  Boy — the 
packet ! 

Francois.  Kill  me,  my  lord  ! 

Rich.  They  knew  thee— they  suspec  ted — 
They  gave  it  not  

Francois.  He  gave  it — he — the  Count 
De  Baradas — with  his  own  hand  he  gave  it 

Rich.  Baradas  !  Joy  1  out  with  it ! 

Francois.  Listen. 
And  then  dismiss  me  to  the  headsmen. 

Rich.  Ha  ! 
Go  on. 

Francois.  They  led  me  to  a  chamber.  There 


50 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  III. 


Orleans  and  Baradas — and  some  half-score, 
Whom  I  knew  not — were  met  

Rich.  Not  more  1 

Franc-oii.  But  from 
Th'  adjoining  chamber  broke  the  din  of  voices, 
The  clattering  tread  of  armed  men  ; — at  times 
A  shriller  cry,  that  yelled  out,  "  Death  to  Richelieu  F 

Rich.  Speak  not  of  me  ;  thy  country  is  in  danger  I 
Th' .adjoining  room — So,  so — a  separate  treason  1 
The  one  thy  ruin,  France  ! — the  meaner  crime, 
Left  to  their  tools— my  murder  ! 

Francois.  Baradas 
Questioned  me  close— demurr'd — until,  at  last, 
O'eiTuled  by  Orleans — gave  the  packet — told  me 
That  life  and  death  were  in  the  scroll  : — This  gold — 

Rich.  Gold  is  no  proof  

Francois.  And  Orleans  promised  thousands, 
When  Bouillon's  trumpets  in  the  streets  of  Paris 
Rang  out  the  shrill  answer  :  hastening  from  the  house 
My  footstep  in  the  styrrup,  Marion  stole 
Across  the  threshold,  whispering,  "  Lose  no  moment 
Ere  Richelieu  have  the  packet  :  tell  him,  too — 
Murder  is  in  the  winds  of  Night,  and  Orleans 
Swears,  ere  the  dawn  the  Cardinal  shall  be  clay." 
She  said,  and  trembling  fled  within  :  when  lo  1 
All  and  of  iron  griped  me  !    Thro'  the  dark, 
Gleam'd  the  dim  shadow  of  an  armed  man  : 
Ere  I  could  draw,  the  prize  was  wrested  from  me, 
And  a  hoarse  voice  gasp'd — "  Spy,  I  spare  thee,  for 
This  steel  is  virgin  to  thy  lord  1" — with  that 
He  vanish'd. — Scared  and  trembling  for  thy  safety, 
I  mounted,  fled,  and,  kneeling  at  thy  feet, 
Implore  thee  to  acquit  my  faith — but  not, 
Like  him,  to  spare  my  life. 

Rich.  Who  spake  of  life  ? 
I  bade  thee  grasp  that  treasure  as  thine  honour — 
A  jewel  worth  whole  hecatombs  of  lives  ! 
Begone  !  redeem  thine  honour  !    Back  to  Marion — 
Or  Baradas — or  Orleans — track  the  rolber — 
Regain  the  packet — or  crawl  on  to  Age — 
Age  and  gray  hairs  like  mine — and  know,  thou  hast  lost 


Scene  I.] 


RICHELIEU. 


That  which  hath  made  the  great  and  saved  thy  country. 
See  me  not  till  thon'st  bought  the  right  to  seek  me. 
Away  ?  Nay  cheer  thee  !  thou  hast  not  fail'd  yet — 
There's  no  such  word  as 11  fail !" 

Francois.  Bless  you,  my  Lord. 
For  that  one  smile  !  I'll  wear  it  on  my  heart 
To  light  me  back  to  triumph. (6)  (Exit.) 

Rich.  The  poor  youth  ! 
An  elder  had  ask'd  life  !  I  love  the  young  ! 
For  as  great  men  live  not  in  their  own  time 
But  the  next  race, — so  in  the  young  my  soul 
Makes  many  Richelieus.    He  will  win  it  yet. 
Francois  ?  He's  gone.  My  murder  I  Marion's  warning. 
This  bravo's  threat  !  0  for  the  morrow's  dawn  1 
I'll  set  my  spies  to  work — I'll  make  all  space 
(As  does  the  sun)  an  Universal  Eye — 
Huguet  shall  track — Joseph  confess — ha  !  ha  ! 
Strange,  while  I  laugh'd  I  shudder'd,  and  ev'n  now 
Thro'  the  chill  air  the  beating  of  my  heart 
Sounds  like  a  death-watch  by  a  sick  man's  pillow  ; 
If  Huguet  could  deceive  me — hoofs  without — 
The  gates  unclose — steps,  near  and  nearer  1 
Enter  J ulie. 

Julie.  Cardinal ! 
My  father  !  (falls  at  his  feet. 

Rich.  Julie  at  this  hour  !  and  tears. 
What  ails  the  ? 

Julie.  I  am  I  am  safe  with  thee  ! 

Rich.  Safe  I  why  in  all  the  srorms  of  this  wild  world 
What  wind  would  mar  the  violet  ? 

Julie.  That  man — 
Why  did  I  love  him  ? — clinging  to  a  breast 
That  knows  no  shelter  ? 

Listen — late  at  noon — 
The  marrage-day — ev'n  then  no  more  a  lover, 
He  left  me  coldly  !    Well  I  sought  my  chamber 
To  weep  and  wonder  ;  but  to  hope  and  dream 
Suddeu  a  mandate  from  the  king, — to  attend 
Forthwith  his  pleasure  at  the  Louvre. 

Rich.  Ha  ! 
You  did  obey  the  summons  j  and  the  king 


52 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  III 


Reproach'd  your  hasty  nuptials, 

Julie.  Were  that  all  ! 
He  frown'd  and  chid  ;  proclaim'd  the  bond  unlawful  ; 
Bade  me  not  quit  my  chamber  in  the  palace, 

And  there  at  night — alone  this  night  !  all  still 

He  sought  my  presence — dared  ! — thou  read'st  the  heart 
Read  mine — I  cannot  speak  it  ! 

Rich.  He,  a  king  ! 
You — woman  ;  well,  you  yielded  ! 

Julie.  Cardinal  ! 
Dare  you  say  "  yielded  V*    Humbled  and  abash'd, 
He  from  the  chamber  crept— this  mighty  Louis  ; 
Crept  like  a  baffled  felon  ! — yielded  !  Ah  ! 
More  royalty  in  woman's  heart 
Than  dwells  within  the  crowned  majesty 
And  sceptered  anger  of  a  hundred  kings  ! 
Yielded  !    Heavens  ! — yielded  ! 

Rich.  To  my  breast, — close — close  I 
The  world  would  never  need  a  Richelieu,  if 
Men — bearded,  mailed  men — the  Lords  of  Earth — 
Resisted  flattery,  falsehood,  averice,  pride, 
As  this  poor  child  with  the  dove's  innocent  scorn 

Her  sex's  tempers,  Yanity  and  Power  !  

He  left  you — well ! 

Julie.  Then  came  a  sharper  trial  ! 
At  the  king's  suit,  the  Count  De  Baradas 
Sought  me,  to  soothe,  to  fawn,  to  flatter,  while 
On  his  smooth  lip  insult  appeared  more  hateful 
For  the  false  mask  of  pity  :  letting  fall 
Dark  hints  of  treachery,  with  a  world  of  sigli3 
That  heaven  had  granted  to  so  base  a  lord 
The  heart  whose  coldest  friendship  were  to  him 
What  Mexico  to  misers  !    Stung  at  last 
By  distain,  the  dim  and  glimmering  sense 
Of  his  cloak'd  words  broke  into  bolder  light, 
And  then — ah  !  then,  my  haughty  spirit  fail'd  me  ! 
Then  I  was  weak — wept — oh  !  such  bitter  tear  ! 
For  (turn  thy  face  aside,  and  let  me  whisper 
The  horror  to  thine  ear)  then  I  did  learn 
That  he — that  Adrien — that  my  husband — knew 
The  king's  polluting  suit,  and  deemed  it  honour  I 


Scene  II.] 


RICHELIEU. 


53 


Then  all  the  terrible  and  loathsome  truth 
Glared  on  me  ;  coldness — waywardness — reserve— 
Mystery  of  looks — words — all  unravell'd  ! — and 
I  saw  the  imposter  where  I  had  lov'd  the  God  ! 

Rich.  I  think  thou  wrong'st  thy  husband — but  proceed. 

Julie.  Did  you  say  "  wrong'd"  him?  Cardinal,  my  father, 
Did  you  say  "  wrong'd  ?"  Prove  it  !  and  life  shall  glow 
One  prayer  for  thy  reward  and  his  forgiveness  1 

Rich.  Let  me  know  all. 

Julie,  To  despair  he  caused 
The  courtier  left  me  ;  but  amid  the  chaos 
Darted  one  guiding  ray — to  'scape — to  fly — 
Reach  Adrien,  learn  the  worst — 'twas  then  near  midnight ; 
Trembling  I  left  my  chamber — sought  the  queen — 
Fell  at  her  feet — reveal'd  the  unholy  peril — 
Implored  her  aid  to  flee  our  joint  disgrace. 
Moved,  she  embraced  and  soothed  me  ;  nay,  preserved  : 
Her  word  sufficed  to  unlock  the  palace-gates  ; 
I  hasten'd  home — but  home  was  desolate — 
No  Adrien  there  !    Fearing  the  worst,  I  fled 
To  thee,  directed  hither.    As  my  wheels 
Panted  at  the  gates — the  clang  of  arms  behind 
The  ring  of  hoofs — 

Rich.  'Twas  but  my  guards,  fair  trembler. 
(So  Huguet  keeps  his  word,  my  omens  wrong'd  him.) 

Julie.  Oh,  in  one  hour  what  years  of  anguish  crowd  ! 

Rich.  Nay,  there's  no  danger  now.    Thou  need'st  rest. 
Come,  thou  shaft  lodge  beside  me.    Tush  !  be  cheer'd, 
My  rosiest  Amazon — thou  wrong'st  thy  Theseus. 
All  will  be  well — yet,  yet  all  well. 

[Exeunt  through  a  side  door. 

Scene  II. —  The  moonlight  obscured  at  the  casement. 

Enter  Huguet — De  Mauprat  in  complete  armour,  his  vizzor 
down. 

Hug.  Not  here  ! 

De  Maup.  Oh,  I  will  find  him,  fear  not.    Hence  and 
guard 

The  galleries  where  the  menials  sleep — plant  sentries 
At  every  outlet.    Chance  should  throw  no  shadow 
e* 


54 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  III 


Between  the  vengeance  and  the  victim  !  Go  1 
Ere  yon  brief  vapor  that  obscures  the  moon, 
As  doth  our  deed  pale  conscience,  pass  away, 
The  mighty  shall  be  ashes. 

Hug.  Will  you  not 
A  second  arm  ? 

De  Maup.  To  slay  one  weak  old  man  ? 
Away  !    No  lesser  wrongs  than  mine  can  make 
This  murder  lawful.    Hence  1 

Hug.  A  short  farewell !  Krd 

Re-enter  Richelieu,  not  perceiving  De  Mauprat. 

Rieh.  How  heavy  is  the  air  1  the  vestal  lamp 
Of  the  sad  moon,  weary  with  vigil,  dies 
In  the  still  temple  of  the  solmen  heaven  1 
The  very  darkness  lends  itself  to  fear — 
To  treason — 

De  Maup.  And  to  death  I 

Rich.  My  omens  lied  not  1 
What  art  thou,  wretch  ? 

De  Maup.  Thy  doomsman  1 

Rick.  Ho,  my  guards  ! 
Huguet  1  Monthbrassial  !  Vermont  I 

De  Maup.  Ay,  thy  spirits 
Forsake  thee,  wizzard  ;  thy  bold  men  of  mail 
Are  my  eonfeder cites.    Stir  not  !  but  one  step, 
And  know  the  next — thy  grave  1 

Rich.  Thou  liest,  knave  ! 
I  am  old,  infirm — most  feeble — but  thou  liest ! 
Armand  de  Richelieu  dies  not  by  the  hand 
Of  man— the  stars  have  said  it  (7) — and  the  voice 
Of  my  own  prophet  and  oracular  soul 
Confirms  the  shining  Sybils  !    Call  them  all — 
Thy  brother  butchers  !    Earth  has  no  such  fiend — 
No  !  as  one  paracide  of  his  father-land. 
Who  dares  in  Richelieu  murder  France  ! 

De  Maup.  Thy  stars 
Deceive  thee,  Cardinal  ;  thy  soul  of  wiles 
May  against  kings  and  armaments  avail, 
And  mock  the  embattled  world  ;  but  powerless  now 
Against  the  sword  of  one  resolved  man, 
Upon  whose  forehead  thou  hast  written  shame  1 


Scene  II. 


RICHELIEU. 


55 


Rich.  I  breathe  ; — he  is  not  a  hireling.    Have  I  wronged 

thee? 

Beware  surmise — suspicion — lies  !  I  am 
Too  great  for  men  to  speak  the  truth  of  me  !. 

De  Maup.  Thy  acts  are  the  accusers,  Cardinal. 
In  his  hot  youth,  a  soldier  urged  to  crime 
Against  the  State,  placed  in  your  hands  his  life  ; — 
You  did  not  strike  the  blow — but  o'er  his  head, 
Upon  the  gossamer  thread  of  your  caprice, 
Hovered  the  axe. — His  the  brave  spirit's  hell, 
The  twilight  terror  of  suspense  ; — your  death 
Had  set  him  free  ; — he  purposed  not  nor  prayed  it. 
One  day  you  summoned — mocked  him  with  smooth  pardon 
Showered  wealth  upon  him — bade  an  angel's  face 
Turn  earth  to  paradise  

Rich.  Well ! 

De  Maup.  Was  this  mercy  ? 
A  Caesar's  generous  vengeance  ? — Cardinal,  no  I 
Judas  not  Caesar,  was  the  model !  You 
Saved  him  from  death  for  shame  ;  reserved  to  grow 
The  scorn  of  living  men — to  his  dead  sires 
Leprous  reproach — scoff  of  the  age  to  come — 
A  kind  convenience — a  Sir  Pandarus 
To  his  own  bride,  and  the  august  adulterer  ! 
Then  did  the  first  great  law  of  human  hearts, 
Which  with  the  patriot's,  not  the  rebel's  name 
Crowned  the  first  Brutus,  when  the  Tarquin  fell, 
Make  misery  royal — raise  this  desperate  wretch 
Into  thy  destiny  !    Expect  no  mercy  ! 
Behold  Be  Mauprat  !  [Lifts  his  visor. 

Rich.  To  thy  knees,  and  crawl 
For  pardon  ;  or,  I  tell  thee,  thou  shalt  live 
For  suclf  remorse,  that,  did  I  hate  thee,  I 
Would  bid  the  strike  that  I  might  be  avenged  ! 
It  was  to  save  my  Julie  from  the  king, 
That  in  my  valour  I  forgave  thy  crime  ; — 
It  was,  when  thou — the  rash  and  ready  tool — 
Yea,  of  that  shame  thou  loath'st — did'st  leave  thy  hearth 
To  the  polluter — in  these  arms  thy  bride 
Found  the  protecting  shelter  thine  withheld. 

( Goes  to  the  side  door.) 


56 


RICHELIEU". 


[Act  III 


Julie  de  Mauprat — Julie  ! 

Enter  Julie. 

Lo  !  my  witness  I 

De  Maup.  What  marvel's  this  ? — I  dream  !    My  Julio 
— thou ! 
This,  thy  beloved  hand  ? 

Julie.  Henceforth  all  bond 
Between  us  twain  is  broken.    Were  it  not 
For  this  old  man,  I  might,  in  truth,  have  lost 
The  right — now  mine — to  scorn  thee  1 

Rich.  So,  you  hear  her  I 

De  Maup.  Thou  with  some  slander  bast  her  sense  in- 
fected ! 

Julie.  No,  Sir  ;  he  did  excuse  thee  in  despite 
Of  all  that  wears  the  face  of  truth.    Thy  friend — 
Thy  confident — familier — Baradas — 
Himself  revealed  thy  baseness, 

De  Maup.  Baseness  I 

Rich.  Ay  ; 
That  thou  didst  court  dishonour  ! 

De  Maup.  Baradas  ! 
Where  is  thy  thunder,  Heaven  ?  Duped  I  snared  I  undone  ! 
Thou — thou  couldst  not  believe  him!  Thou  dost  love  me  1 
Love  cannot  feed  on  falsehood  ! 

Jufte  (aside).    Love  him  !  Ah  ! 
Be  still,  my  heart  !    Love  you  I  did  : — how  fondly, 
Woman — if  women  were  my  listeners  now — 
Alone  could  tell !    For  ever  fled  my  dream  : 
Farewell — all's  over  ! 

Rich.  Nay,  my  daughter,  these 
Are  but  the  blinding  mists  of  day-break  love 
Sprung  from  its  very  light,  and  heralding 
A  noon  of  happy  summer.    Take  her  hand 
And  speak  the  truth  with  which  your  heart  runs  over — 
That  this  Count  Judas — this  incarnate  falsehood — 
Never  lied  more  than  when  he  told  thy  Julie 
That  Adrien  loved  her  not — except,  indeed, 
When  he  told  Adrien,  Julie  could  betray  him. 

Julie  (embracing  De  Maup.)   You  love  me,  then  !  yo» 
love  me  !  and  they  wrong'd  you  I 

De  Maup.  Ah,  could'st  thou  doubt  ? 


Scene  II.] 


RICHELIEU. 


57 


Rich.  Why  the  very  mole 
Less  blind  than  thou  1    Baradas  loves  thy  wife  : — 
Had  hoped  her  hand — aspired  to  be  that  cloak 
To  the  kings's  will,  which  to  thy  bluntness  seems 
The  Centaui  s  poisonous  robe — hopes  even  now 
To  make  thy  corpse  his  footstool  to  thy  bed  1 
Where  was  thy  wit,  man  ?    Ho  !  these  schemes  are  glass  I 
The  very  sun  shines  through  them. 
De  Maup.  0,  my  Lord, 
Can  you  forgive  me  ? 

Rick.  Ay,  and  save  you  ! 

De  Maup.  Save  ! — 
Terrible  word  !    0,  save  thyself :  these  halls 
Swarm  with  thy  foes  :  already  for  thy  blood 
Pants  thirsty  murder  I 

Julie.  Murder  ! 

Rich.  Hush  !  put  by 
The  woman.    Hush  !  a  shriek — a  cry — a  breath 
Too  loud,  would  startle  from  its  horrent  pause 
The  swooping  Death  !  Go  to  the  door,  and  listen  1 
Now  for  escape  ! 

De  Maup.  None — none  !    Their  blades  shall  pass 
This  heart  to  thine. 

Rich  (dryly.)    An  honourable  outwork. 
»  But  much  too  near  the  citadel.    I  think 
That  you  can  trust  now  (slowly  and  gazing  on  him :) 

yes; 
I  can  trust  you. 

How  many  of  my  troop  league  with  you  ? 

De  Maup.  All  !— 
We  are  your  troop  ! 

Rich.  And  Huguet  ? — 

De  Maup.  Is  our  captain. 

Rich.  A  retributive  Power  !    This  comes  of  spies. 
All  ?  then  the  lion's  skin  too  short  to-night, — 
Now  for  the  fox's  ? 

Julie.  A  hoarse  gathering  murmur  I 
Hurrying  and  heavy  footsteps  ! 

Rich.  Ha  !  the  posterns  ! 

De  Maup  No  egress  where  no  sentry  ! 

Rich.  Follow  me — 


53 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  III 


I  have  it  !  to  my  chamber — quick  !  Come,  Julie  I 
Hush  !  Mauprat  come  ! 

Murmur  at  a  distance — "  Death  to  the  Cardinal  I" 
Rich.  Bloodhounds,  I  laugh  at  ye  !  ha  !  ha  I  we  will 
Baffle  them  yet.    Ha  !  ha  1 

Exeunt  Julie,  Mauprat,  Richelieu 
Huguet  (without).  This  way — this  way  ! 

Scene  III. — Enter  Huguet  and  the  Conspirators. 

Hug.  De  Mauprat's  hand  is  never  slow  in  battle  ; 
Strange,  if  it  falter  now  !  Ha  !  gone  1 

First  Conspirator.  Perchance 
The  fox  had  crept  to  rest  ;  and  to  his  lair 
Death,  the  dark  hunter  tracks  him. 

Enter  Mauprat  throwing  open  the  doors  of  the  recess  in-—— 
which  a  bed,  whereon  Richelieu  lies  extended. 

Maup.  Live  the  King  ! 
Richelieu  is  dead  ! 

Huguet  (advancing  towards  the  recess;  Mauprat  following, 
his  hand  on  his  dagger. )    Are  his  eyes  open  ? 

De  Maup.  Ay  ; 
As  if  in  life  ! 

Huguet  (turning  back.)  I  will  not  look  on  him. 
You  have  been  long. 

De  Maup.  I  watched  him  till  he  slept 
Heed  me.    No  trace  of  blood  reveals  the  deed  ; — 
Strangled  in  sleep.    His  health  had  long  been  broken- 
Found  breathless  in  his  bed.    So  runs  our  tale, 
Remember  !    Back  to  Paris — Orleans  gives 
Ten  thousand  crowns,  and  Baradas  a  lordship, 
To  him  who  first  gluts  vengeance  with  the  news 
That  Richelieu  is  in  heaven  !    Quick,  that  all  France 
May  share  your  joy  ! 

Huguet.  And  you  ? 

De  Maup.  Will  stay  to  crush 
Eager  suspicion — to  forbid  sharp  eyes 
To  dwell  too  closely  on  the  clay  ;  prepare 
The  rites,  and  place  him  on  his  bier — this  my  task. 
I  leave  you,  sirs,  the  more  grateful  lot 
Of  wealth  and  honours.    Hence  ! 


Scene  II.] 


KICHELIEU. 


59 


JIuguet.  I  shall  be  noble  ! 
De  Maup.  Away. 

First  Conspirator.  Five  thousand  crowns  ! 

Omens.  To  horse  !  to  horse  !       [Exeunt  Conspirators. 

Scene  IV. — Still  night. — A  room  in  the  house  of  Count  De 
Baradas,  lighted,  SfC 

Orleans  2nd  De  Beringhen  . 

De  Ber.  I  understand.    Mauprat  kept  guard  without : 
Knows  nought  of  the  despatch— but  heads  the  troop 
Whom  the  poor  Cardinal  fancies  his  protectors. 
Save  us  from  such  protection  ! 

Orleans.  Yet  if  Huguet, 
By  whose  advice  and  proffers  we  renounced 
Our  earlier  scheme,  should  still  be  Richelieu's  minion, 
And  play  us  false — 

De  Ber.  The  fox  must  then  devour 
The  geese  he  gripes.    I'm  out  of  it,  thank  Heaven  I 
And  you  must  swear  you  smelt  the  trick,  but  seem'd 
To  approve  the  deed  to  render  up  the  doers. 

Enter  Baradas. 

Bar.  Julie  is  fled  : — The  King,  whom  now  I  left 
To  a  most  thorny  pillow,  vows  revenge 
On  her — on  Mauprat — and  on  Richelieu  1    Well ; 
We  loyal  men  anticipate  his  wish 
Upon  the  last — and  as  for  Mauprat, — 

{Showing  a  writ.) 

De  Ber.  Hum  ! 

They  say  the  devil  invented  printing  !  Faith, 

He  has  some  hand  in  writing  parchment — eh,  Count  ? 

What  mischief  now  ? 

Bar.  The  King  at  Julie's  flight 
Enraged  will  brook  no  rival  in  a  subject — 
So  on  this  old  offence — the  affair  of  Faviaux — 
Ere  Mauprat  can  tell  tales  of  us,  we  build 
His  bridge  between  the  dungeon  and  the  grave. 

Orkans.  Well ;  if  our  courier  can  but  reach  the  army, 
The  cards  are  ours  !  and  yet,  I  own  I  tremble. 
Our  names  are  in  the  scroll— discovery,  death  I 

Bar.  Success  !  a  crown  I 


GO 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  III, 


De  Ber.  (apart  to  Baradas.)    Our  future  regent  is 
No  hero. 

Bar  (to  De  Beringhen.)     But  his  rank  makes  others 
valiant  ; 

And  on  his  cowardice  I  mount  to  power. 
Were  Orleans  Regent — what  were  Baradas  ? 
Oh  !  by  the  way — I  had  forgot  your  highness, 
Friend  Huguet  whisper'd  me,  "  Beware  of  Marion  : 
I've  seen  her  lurking  near  the  Cardinal's  palace." 
Upon  that  hint — I've  found  her  lodgings  elsewhere. 

Orleans.  You  wrong  her,  Count : — Poor  Marion  1  she 
adores  me. 

Bar.  (apologetically.)    Forgive  me,  but  

Enter  Page. 

Page.  My  Lord,  a  rude,  strange  soldier, 
Breathless  with  haste,  demands  an  audience. 

Bar.  So  ! 
The  archers  ? 

Page.  In  the  ante-room,  my  Lord, 
As  you  desired. 

Bar.  'Tis  well,  admit  the  soldier. 

]  Exit  Page 

Huguet !  I  bade  him  seek  here  ! 

Enter  Huguet. 

Huguet.  My  Lords, 
The  deed  is  done.    Now,  Count,  fulfil  your  word, 
And  make  me  noble  ! 

Bar.  Richelieu  dead  ? — art  sure  ? 
How  died  he  ? 

Huguet.  Strangled  in  his  sleep  : — no  blood, 
No  tell-tale  violence. 

Bar.  Strangled  ?  monstrous  villian  ! 
Reward  for  murder  !    Ho,  there  !  [Stamping 

Enter  Captain  with  Jive  Archers. 

Huguet.  No,  thou  durst  not ! 

Bar.  Seize  on  the  ruffian — bind  him — gag  him  !  Off 
To  the  Bastile  ! 

Huguet.  Your  word — your  plighted  faith  ! 
Bar.  Insolent  liar     ho,  away  ! 


Scene  IY.] 


RICHELIEU. 


61 


Hugivet.  Nay,  Count ; 

I  have  that  about  me,  which  

Bar.  Away  with  him  ! 

[Exeunt  Huguet  and  Archers 
Now,  then  all's  safe  ;  Huguet  must  die  in  prison, 
So  Mauprat : — coax  or  force  the  meaner  crew 
To  fly  the  country.    Ha,  ha  1  thus,  your  highness, 
Great  men  make  use  of  little  men 

De  Ber.    My  Lords, 
Since  our  suspense  is  ended — you'll  excuse  me  ; 
^is  late — and,  entre  nous,  I  have  not  supp'd  yet  1 
I'm  one  of  the  new  Council  now,  remember ; 
I  feel  the  public  stirring  here  already  ; 
A  very  craving  monster.    Au  revoir  I 

[Exit  De  Beringhen, 

Orleans.  No  fear,  now  Richelieu's  dead. 

Bar.  And  could  he  come 
To  life  again,  he  could  not  keep  life's  life — 
His  power, — nor  save  De  Mauprat  from  the  scaffold, — 
Nor  Julie  from  these  arms — nor  Paris  from 
The  Spaniard — nor  your  highness  from  the  throne  ! 
All  ours  !  all  ours  !  in  spite  of  my  Lord  Cardinal ! 

Enter  Page. 

Page.  A  gentleman,  my  Lord,  of  better  mein 
Than  he  who  last — 

Bar.  Well,  he  may  enter.  [Exit  Page. 

Orleans.  Who 
Can  this  be  ? 

Bar.  One  of  the  conspirators: 
Mauprat  himself,  perhaps. 

Enter  Francois, 

Fran.  My  Lord  

Bar.  Ha,  traitor  I 
In  Paris  still  1 

Fran.    The  packet — the  despatch — 
Some  nave  play'd  spy  wihout,  and  reft  it  from  me, 
Ere  I  could  draw  my  sword. 

Bar.  Play'd  spy  without  I 
Pid  he  wear  armour  ? 

F 


62 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  IIL 


Fran.  Aye,  from  head  to  heel. 

Orleans.  One  of  our  band.    Oh,  heavens  1 

Bar.  Could  it  be  Mauprat  ? 
Kept  guard  at  the  door — knew  naught  of  the  despatch — 
How  he  ? — and  yet,  who  other  ? 

Fran.  Ha,  De  Mauprat  ! 
The  night  was  dark  his  valour  closed. 

Bar.  'Twas  he  ! 
How  could  he  guess  ? — 'sdeath  !  if  he  should  betray  us. 
His  hate  to  Richelieu  dies  with  Richelieu — and 
He  was  not  great  enough  for  treason.    Hence  ! 
Find  Mauprat — beg,  steal,  filch,  or  force  it  back. 
Or,  as  I  live,  the  halter  

Fran.  By  the  morrow 
I  will  regain  it,  ( aside.)  and  redeem  my  honour  ! 

[Exit  Francois. 

Orleans.  Oh  !  we  are  lost — 
Bar.  Not  so  !    But  cause  on  cause 
For  Mauprat's  seizure — silence — death  !    Take  courage. 
Orleans.  Should  it  once  reach  the  King,  the  Cardinal's 
arm 

Could  smite  us  from  the  grave. 

Bar.  Sir,  think  it  not  ! 
I  hold  De  Mauprat  in  my  grasp.  To-morrow, 
And  France  is  ours  !    Thou  dark  and  fallen  Angel, 
Whose  name  on  earth's  Ambition — thou  that  mak'st 
Thy  throne  on  treasons,  stratagems,  and  murder — 
And  with  thy  fierce  and  blood-red  smile  canst  quench 
The  guiding  stars  of  solemn  empire — hear  us — 
(For  we  are  thine) — and  light  us  to  the  gcal  ! 


END  OF  ACT  III. 


Scene  I.] 


RICHELIEU. 


63 


ACT  IY. 


THIRD  DAY. 

Scene  I. — The  Gardens  of  the  Louvre. 

Orleans,  Baradas,  De  Beringhen,  Courtiers,  SfC 

Orleans.  How  does  my  brother  bear  the  Cardinal's 
death  ? 

Bar.  With  grief  when  thinking  of  the  toils  of  State  ; 
With  joy,  when  thinking  on  the  eyes  of  Julie  : — 
At  times  he  sighs,  "  Who  now  shall  govern  France  V 
Anon  exclaims — "  Who  now  shall  baffle  Louis  V} 

Enter  Louis  and  other  Courtiers.    They  uncover. 

Orleans.  Now,  my  liege,  now,  I  can  embrace  a  brother. 

Louis.  Dear  Gaston,  yes.    I  do  believe  you  love  me  ; — 
Richelieu  denied  it — sever'd  us  too  long. 
A  great  man,  Gaston  !    Who  shall  govern  France  ? 

Bar.  Yourself,  my  liege.    That  swart  and  potent  star 
Eclipsed  your  royal  orb.    He  served  the  country. 
But  did  he  serve,  or  seek  to  sway  the  King  ? 

Louis.  You're  right — he  was  an  able  politician  ( 1 ) 
That's  all  : — between  ourselves,  Count,  I  suspect 
The  largeness  of  his  learning — specially 
In  falcons  (2) — poor  huntsman,  too  ! 

Bar.  Ha — ha  ! 
Your  Majesty  remembers — 

Louis.  Ay,  the  blunder 
Between  the  greffier  and  the  sandllard,  when — 

[  Checks  and  crosses  himself 
Alas  !  poor  sinners  that  we  are  !  we  laugh 
While  this  great  man — a  priest,  a  cardinal, 
A  faithful  servant — out  upon  us  ! 

Bar.  Sire, 

If  my  brow  wear  no  cloud,  'tis  that  the  Cardinal 
No  longer  shades  the  King. 


04 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act.  IV 


Louis  ( Looking  up  at  the  skies ).    Oh.Baradas  ! 

Am  I  not  to  be  pitied  ? — what  a  day 

For- 
far. Sorrow  ? — No,  sire  ! 
Louis.  Bah  !  for  hunting,  man, 

And  Richelieu's  dead  ;  'twould  be  an  indecorum 

Till  he  is  buried — (yawns ) — life  is  very  tedious. 

I  made  a  madrigal  on  life  last  week  ; 

You  do  not  sing,  (3)  Count  ?    Pity  ;  you  should  learn. 

Poor  Richelieu  had  no  ear — yet  a  great  man. 

Ah  !  what  a  weary  weight  devolves  upon  me  ! 

These  endless  wars — these  thankless  Parliaments — 

The  snares  in  which  he  tangled  States  and  Kings, 

Like  the  old  fisher  of  the  fable,  Proteus, 

Netting  great  Neptune's  wariest  tribes  and  changing 

Into  all  shapes  when  Craft  pursued  himself  ; 

Oh,  a  great  man  I 

Bar.  Your  royal  mother  said  so, 

And  died  in  exile. 

Louis,  (sadly).    True  :  I  loved  my  mother  !  (4) 
Bar.  The  Cardinal  dies.    Yet  day  revives  the  earth 

The  rivers  run  not  back.    In  truth,  my  liege, 

Did  your  high  orb  on  others  shine  as  on  him, 

Why,  things  as  dull  in  their  own  selves  as  I  am 

Would  glow  as  brightly  with  the  borrowed  beam. (5) 
Louis.  Ahem  !    He  was  too  stern. 
Orleans.  A  very  Nero. 

Bar.  His  power  was  like  the  Capitol  of  old — 
Built  on  a  human  skull. 

Louis.  And,  had  he  lived, 
I  know  another  head,  my  Baradas, 

That  would  have  propp'd  the  pile  :  I've  seen  him  eye  these 
With  a  most  hungry  fancy. 

Bar.  (anxiously ).   Sire,  I  knew 
You  would  protect  me. 

Louis.  Did  you  so  ?  of  course  ! 
And  yet  he  had  a  way  with  him — a  something 

That  always  But  no  matter,  he  is  dead. 

And,  after  all,  men  called  his  King  "  The  Just,"  (6) 
And  so  I  am.    Dear  Count,  this  silliest  Julie, 
I  know  not  why,  she  takes  my  fancy.  Many 


Scene  I.] 


RICHELIEU. 


65 


As  fair,  and  certainly  more  kind  :  but  yet 
It  is  so.    Count,  I  am  no  lustful  Tarquin, 
And  do  abhor  the  bold  and  froutless  vices 
Which  the  Church  justly  ceusures  ;  yet,  'tis  sad 
On  rainy  days  to  drag  out  weary  hours — (7) 
Deaf  to  the  music  of  a  woman's  voice — 
Blind  to  the  sunshine  of  a  woman's  eyes. 
It  is  no  sin  in  Kings  to  seek  amusement  ; 
And  that  is  all  I  seek.    I  miss  her  much  : 
She  has  a  silver  laugh — a  rare  perfection. 

Bar.  Richelieu  was  most  disloyal  in  that  marriage. 

Louis  (querulously).    He  knew  that  Julie  pleased  me  :— 
a  clear  proof 
He  never  loved  me  ! 

Bar.  Oh,  most  clear  !    But  now 
No  bar  between  the  lady  and  your  will ! 
This  writ  makes  all  secure  :  a  week  or  two 
In  the  Bastile  will  sober  Mauprat's  love, 
And  leave  him  eager  to  dissolve  a  hymen 
That  brings  him  such  a  home. 

Louis.  See  to  it,  Count  ;  [Exit  Baradas. 

I'll  summon  J ulie  back.    A  word  with  you. 

(  Takes  aside  First  Courtier  and  De  Beringhen,  and  passe*, 
conversing  with  them,  through  the  gardens.) 

Enter  Francois. 

Fran.  All  search,  as  yet,  in  vain  for  Mauprat !  Not 
At  home  since  yesternoon — a  soldier  told  me 
He  saw  him  pass  this  way  with  hasty  strides  ; 
Should  he  meet  Baradas  they'd  rend  it  from  him — 
And  then  benignant  Fortune  smiles  upon  me — 
I  am  thy  son.   If  thou  desert'st  me  now, 
Come  Death  and  snatch  me  from  disgrace.    But  no  I 
There's  a  great  Spirit  ever  in  the  air 
That  from  prolific  and  far-spreading  wings 
Scatters  the  seeds  of  houour — yea,  the  walls 
And  moats  of  castled  forts,  the  barren  seas, 
The  cell  wherein  the  pale-eyed  student  holds 
Talk  with  melodious  science — all  are  sown 


51 


RICHELIEU. 


With  everlasting  honours  if  our  souls 
Will  toil  for  fame  as  boors  for  bread  

Enter  De  Mauprat. 

Maup.  Oh,  let  me — 
Let  me  but  meet  him  foot  to  foot — I'll  dig 
The  Judas  from  his  heart  ; — albeit  the  King 
Should  o'er  him  cast  the  purple  I 

Fran.  Mauprat !  hold  : — 
Where  is  the  

Maup.  Well  !  What  would'st  thou  ? 

Fran.  The  despatch  1 
The  packet.  Look  on  me — I  serve  the  Cardinal — 
You  know  me.    Did  you  not  keep  guard  last  night, 
By  Marion's  House  ? 

Ma  up.  I  did  : — no  matter  now  ! 
They  told  me  he  was  here ! 

Fran.  0  joy  !  quick — quick — 
The  packet  thou  didst  wrest  from  me  ? 

Maup.  The  packet  ? 
What,  art  thou  he  I  deemed  the  Cardinal's  spy 
(Dupe  that  I  was) — and  overhearing  Marion — 

Fran.    The  same — restore  it !  haste  1 

Maup.  I  have  it  not : 
Me  thought  it  but  revealed  our  scheme  to  Richelieu, 

Enter  Baradas. 

Stand  back  I 

Now,  villian  !  now,  I  have  thee  ! 
(  To  Francois.) — Hence,  Sir  !  Draw  I 

Fran.  Art  mad  ?  the  King's  at  hand  I  leave  him  to 
Richelieu  ! 
Speak — the  despatch  to  whom — 

Maup.  (Dashing  him  aside  and  rushing  to  Baradas.) 
Thou  triple  slanderer  ! 

I'll  set  my  heel  upon  thy  crest !  ( A  few  passes.) 

Fran.  Fly— fly  ! 
The  King  I 

Enter  at  one  side,  Louis,  Orleans,  De  Beringhen, 
Courtiers,  §-c,  at  the  other,  the  guards  hastily. 


Scene  I..] 


RICHELIEU. 


67 


Louis.  Swords  drawn,  before  our  very  palace  ! 
Have  our  laws  died  with  Richelieu  ? 

Bar.  Pardon,  Sire, — 
My  crime  but  self-defence.  (8)  (Aside  to  King.,)     It  is  Do 
Mauprat  ! 

Louis.  Dare  he  thus  brave  us  ? 

[Baradas  goes  to  the  guard  and  gives  the  writ. 

Maup.  Sire,  in  the  Cardinal's  name — 
Bar.  Seize  him — disarm — to  the  Bastile  ! 
(De  Mauprat  seized,  struggles  with  the  guard — Francois! 
restlessly  endeavouring  to  pacify  and  speak  to  him — when 
the  gates  open.) 

Enter  Richelieu  and  Joseph,  followed  by  arquebusiers 

Bar.  The  dead 
Return'd  to  life  ! 

Louis.  What  !  A  mock  death  !  this  tops 
The  infinite  of  insult. 

Maup  (breaking  from  guards.)  Priest  and  Hero  ! 
For  you  are  both — protect  the  truth  I 

Rich.  What's  this  ?  (Taking  the  writ  from  guard.) 

Be  Ber.  Fact  in  philosophy.    Foxes  have  got 
Nine  lives  as  well  as  cats  ! 

Bar.  Be  firm,  my  liege. 

Louis.  I  have  assumed  the  sceptre — I  will  wield  it ! 
Joseph.  The  tide  runs  counter — there'll  be  shipwreck 
somewhere. 

(Baradas  and  Orleans  keep  close  to  the  King — whispering 
and  prompting  him,  w/ien  Richelieu  speaks.) 

Rich.  High  treason — Faviaux  !  still  that  stale  pretence  ! 
My  leige,  bad  men  (ay,  Count,  most  knavish  men  !) 
Abuse  your  royal  goodness.    For  this  soldier, 
France  hath  none  braver — and  his  youth's  hot  folly, 
Misled — (by  whom  your  Highness  may  conjecture  !) — 
Is  long  since  cancell'd  by  a  loyal  manhiod. 
I,  sire,  have  pardoned  him. 

Louis.  And  we  do  give 
Your  pardon  to  the  winds.    Sir,  do  your  duty  ! 

Rich.  What,  Sire  ?  you  do  not  know — Oh,  pardon  me— 
You  know  not  yet,  that  this  brave,  hcnest  heart, 


68 


RICHELIEU. 


ACTi 


Stood  between  mine  and  murder  1  Sire  !  for  my  sake — 
For  your  old  servant's  sake — undo  this  wrong. 
See,  let  me  rend  the  sentence. 

Louis.  At  your  peril  ! 
This  is  too  much. — Again,  Sir,  do  your  duty  I 

Rich.  Speak  not,  but  go  : — I  would  not  see  young 
Valour 

So  humbled  as  grey  Service  I 
De  Maup.  Fare  you  well  1 
Save  Julie,  and  console  her. 

Fran.  ( aside  to  Mauprat.)    The  Despatch  1 
Your  fate,  foes,  life,  hang  on  a  word  !  to  whom  ? 
De  Maup.  To  Huguet. 
Fran.  Hush — keep  council  !  silence — hope  1 

[Exeunt  Mauprat  and  Guard 
Bar  (aside  to  Francois).    Has  he  the  packet  ? 
Fran.  He  will  not  reveal — 
(Aside.)   Work,  brain  !  beat  heart  I  "  There's  no  such  word 
as  fail?  [Exit.  Francois. 

Rich,  (fiercely ).    Room,  my  Lords,  room  I     The  minister 
of  France 
Can  need  no  intercession  with  the  king. 

(They  fall  back.) 
Louis.    What  means  this  false  report  of  death,  Lord 
Cardinal  ? 

Rich.  Are  you  then  anger'd,  Sire,  that  I  live  still  ? 

Louis.  No  ;  but  such  artifice — 

Rich.  Not  mine  : — look  elsewhere  ! 
Louis — my  castle  swarm'd  with  the  assassins. 

Bar.  (advancing).    We  have  punish'd  them  already. 
Huguet  now 
In  the  Bastile.    Oh  !  my  Lord,  we  were  prompt 
To  avenge  you — we  were — 

Rich.  We  ?    Ha  I  ha  !  you  hear, 
My  leige  !  what  page,  man,  in  the  last  court  grammar 
Made  you  a  plural  ?  Count,  you  have  seized  the  hireling  :  — 
Sire,  shall  I  name  the  master  ? 

Louis.    Tush  !  my  Lord, 
The  old  contrivance  : — ever  does  your  wit 
Invent  assassins, — that  ambition  may 
Slay  rivals — 


Scene  I.J 


RICHELIEU. 


69 


Rich.  Rivals,  sire  !  in  what  ? 
Service  to  France  !    /  have  none, !    Lives  the  man 
Whom  Europe,  paled  before  your  glory,  deems 
Rival  to  Armand  Richelieu  ? 

Louis.  What,  so  haughty  ? 
Remember,  he  who  made,  can  unmake. 

Rich.  Never  I 
Never  !  Your  anger  can  recall  your  trust, 
Annul  my  office,  spoil  me  of  my  lands, 
Rifle  my  coffers, — but  my  name — my  deeds 
Are  royal  in  a  land  beyond  your  sceptre  1 
Pass  sentence  on  me,  if  you  will  ;  from  Kings, 
Lo,  I  appeal  to  Time  !  "  Be  just,  my  liege — 
"  I  found  your  kingdom  rent  with  heresies 
"  And  bristling  with  rebellion  ;  lawless  nobles 
"  And  breadless  serfs  ;  England  fomenting  discord  ; 
"  Austria — her  clutch  on  your  dominion  ;  Spain 
"  Forging  the  prodigal  gold  of  either  Ind 
"  To  arm'd  thunderbolts.    The  Arts  lay  dead, 
"  Trade  rotted  in  your  marts,  your  Armies  mutinous, 
"  Your  Treasury  bankrupt.    Would  you  now  revoke 
"  Your  trust,  so  be  it  !  and  I  leave  you,  sole, 
"  Supremest  Monarch  of  the  mightiest  realm, 
"  From  Ganges  to  the  Iceberghs.    Look  without — 
"  No  foe  not  humbled  !    Look  within  !  the  Arts 
"  Quit  for  our  schools,  their  old  Hesperides, 
"  The  golden  Italy  !  while  throughout  the  veins 
"  Of  your  vast  empire  flows  in  strengthening  tides 
"  Trade  the  calm  health  of  nations  ! 

"  Sire,  I  know 
"  Your  smoother  courtiers  please  you  best — nor  measure 
"  Myself  with  them, — yet  sometimes  I  would  doubt 
"  If  Statesmen  rock'd  and  dandled  into  power 
u  Could  leave  such  legacies  to  kings  I" 

(Louis  appears  irresolute. 

Bar.  (passing  him,  whispers.)  But  Julie, 
Shall  I  not  summon  her  to  court  ? 

Louis  ( motions  to  Baradas  and  Pirns  haughtily  to  the,  Car- 
dinal). Enough  ! 
Your  Eminence  must  excuse  a  longer  audience. 


richelieu.  [Act  ii 


To  your  own  palace  : — For  our  conference,  this 
Nor  place — nor  season. 

Rich.  Good  ray  leige,  for  Justice, 
All  place  a  temple,  and  all  season,  summer  ! 
Do  you  deny  me  justice  ?    Saints  of  Heaven  I 
He  turns  from  me  !    Do  you  deny  me  justice  ? 
For  fifteen  years  while  in  these  hands  dwelt  Empire, 
The  humblest  craftsman — the  obscurest  vassal — 
The  very  leper  shrinking  from  the  sun, 
Tho'  loathed  by  Charity,  might  ask  for  justice  ! 
Not  with  the  fawning  tone  and  crawling  mien 
Of  some  I  see  around  you — Counts  and  Princes — 
Kneeling  for  favours  ; — but,  erect  and  loud, 
As  men  who  ask  man's  rights  !  my  liege,  my  Louis, 
Do  you  refuse  me  justice — audience  even — 
In  the  pale  presence  of  the  baffled  Murther  ?  (9) 

Louis.  Lord  Cardinal — one  by  one  you  have  sever'd  from 
me 

The  bonds  of  human  love — all  near  and  dear 
Mark'd  out  for  vengeance — exile  or  the  scaffold. 
You  find  me  now  amidst  my  trustiest  friends, 
My  closest  kindred  ; — you  would  tear  them  from  me  ; 
They  murder  you  forsooth,  since  me  they  love. 
Enough  of  plots  and  treasons  for  one  reign  1 
Home  !  home  !  and  sleep  away  these  phantoms  ! 
Rich.  Sire  ! 

I  patience,  Heaven  !  sweet  Heaven  !  Sire,  from  the  foot 

Of  that  Great  Throne,  these  hands  have  raised  aloft 

On  an  Olympus,  looking  down  on  mortals 

And  worshipped  by  their  awe — before  the  foot 

Of  that  high  throne, — spurn  you  the  gray-hair'd  man, 

Who  gave  you  empire — and  now  sues  for  safety  ? 

Louis.  No  : — when  we  see  your  eminence  in  truth 
At  the  foot  of  the  throne — we'll  listen  to  you.  Exit  Louis. 

Orleans.  Saved  ! 

Bar.  For  this,  deep  thanks  to  Julie  and  to  Mauprat  1 

Rich.  My  Lord  De  Baradas — I  pray  your  pardon — 
You  are  to  be  my  successor  !  your  hand,  sir  I 

Bar.  ( aside )  What  can  this  mean  ? 

Rich.  It  trembles,  see  !  it  trembles  ! 
The  hand  that  holds  the  destinies  of  nations 


Scene  II.] 


RICHELIEU. 


Ought  to  shake  less  !    Foor  Baradas  !  poor  France  ! 

Bar.  Insolent —  [Exeunt. 

Scene  1 1. 

Rick.  Joseph  !    "Did  you  hear  the  king  ? 
Joseph.  I  did — there's  danger  1  Had  you  been  less  haugh- 
ty— (10)- 

Rick.    And  suffered  slaves  to  chuckle — "  See  the  Car- 
dinal, 

How  meek  his  eminence  is  to-day  !" — I  tell  thee, 
This  is  a  strife  in  which  the  loftiest  look 
Is  the  most  subtle  armour. 

Joseph.  But — 

Rich.  No  time 
For  ifs  and  buts — I  will  accuse  these  traitors  I 
Frangois  shall  witness  that  De  Baradas 
Gave  him  the  secret  mission  for  De  Bouillon, 
And  told  him  life  and  death  were  in  the  scroll. 
I  will— I  will  ! 

Joseph.  Tush  !  Frangois  is  your  creature  : 
So  they  will  say,  and  laugh  at  you  !     Your  witness 
Must  be  that  same  despatch ! 

Rich.  Away  to  Marion  ! 

Joseph.  I  have  been  there — she  is  seized — removed — 
imprisoned — 
By  the  Count's  orders. 

Rich.  Goddess  of  bright  dreams, 
My  Country,  shalt  thou  lose  me  now,  when  most 
Thou  need'st  thy  worshippers  !    My  native  land  ! 
Let  me  but  ward  this  dagger  from  thy  heart, 
And  die  but  on  thy  bosom  ! 

Enter  Julie,  l. 

Julie.  Heaven,  I  thank  thee  ! 
It  cannot  be,  or  this  all-powerful 
Would  not  stand  idly  thus. 

Rich.  What  dost  thou  here  ? 
Home  ! 

Julie.  Home  ?  Is  Adrien  there  ?  you're  dumb,  yet  strive 
For  words  ;  I  see  them  trembling  on  your  lip, 
But  choked  by  pity.    It  was  truth — all  truth  ! 


72 


RICHELIEU 


[Act  IV 


Seized — the  Bastile — and  in  your  presence  too  I 
Cardinal,  where  is  Adrien  ?    Think  I  he  saved 
Your  life  :  your  name  is  infamy,  if  wrong 
Should  come  to  his  ! 

Rich.  Be  sooth'd,  child. 

Julie,  Child  no  more  ; 
I  love,  and  I  am  woman  !    Hope  and  suffer  ; 
Love,  suffering,  hope, — what  else  doth  make  the  strength 
And  majesty  of  woman  ?    Where  is  Adrien? 

Rich,  (to  Joseph )     Your  youth  was  never  young — you 
never  loved : 
Speak  to  her. 

Joseph.  Nay,  take  heed — the  king's  command, 
'Tis  true — I  mean — the — 

Julie,  (to  Richelieu )  Let  thine  eyes  meet  mine 
Answer  me  but  one  word — I  am  a  wife — 
I  ask  thee  for  my  home,  my  fate,  my  all  ! 
Where  is  my  husband  ? 

Rich.  You  are  Richelieu's  ward, 
A  soldier's  bride  :  they  who  insist  on  truth 
Must  outface  fear  ;  you  ask  me  for  your  husband  ? 
There  where  the  clouds  of  heaven  look  darkest,  o'er 
The  domes  of  the  Bastile  ! 

Julie.  I  thank  you  father  ; 
You  see  I  do  not  shudder.    Heaven  forgive  you 
The  sin  of  this  desertion  ! 

Rich  ( detaining  her.)  Whither  would'st  thou  ? 

Julie.  Stay  me  not.    Fie  !  I  should  be  there  already 
I  am  thy  ward,  and  haply  he  may  think 
Thou'st  taught  me  also  to  forsake  the  wretched  ! 

Rich.  I've  fill'd  those  cells — with  many — traitors  all 
Had  they  wives  too  ?  Thy  memories,  Power,  are  solemn  ! 
Poor  sufferer  !  think'st  thou  that  yon  gates  of  woe 
Unbar  to  love  ?    Alas  !  if  love  once  enter, 
'Tis  for  the  last  farewell ;  between  those  walls 
And  the  mute  grave  (11) — the  blessed  household  sounds 
Only  heard  once — while  hungering  at  the  door, 
The  headsman  whets  the  axe. 

Julie.  O,  mercy  !  mercy  ! 
Save  him  restore  him,  father  !    Art  thou  not 
The  Cardinal-King  ?  the  Lord  of  life  and  death — 


Scene  II] 


RICHELIEU. 


Beneath  whose  light,  as  deeps  beneath  the  moon, 
She  solemn  tides  of  Empire  ebb  and  flow  ? — 
Art  thou  not  Richelieu  ? 

Rich.  Yesterday  I  was  ! — ■ 
To-day  a  very  weak  old  man  !  To-morrow, 
I  know  not  what  I 

Julie.  Do  you  conceive  his  meaning  ? 
Alas  !  I  cannot.    But,  methinks,  my  senses 
Are  duller  than  they  were  ! 

Joseph.  The  King  is  chafed 
Against  his  servant.    Lady,  while  we  speak, 
The  lacky  of  the  ante-room  is  not 
More  powerless  than  the  Minister  of  France. 

Rich.  "  And  yet  the  air  is  still  ;  Heaven  wears  no  clond  ; 
"  From  Nature's  silent  orbit,  starts  no  portent 
"  To  warn  the  unconscious  world  ;  albeit,  this  night 
"  May  with  a  morrow  teem  which  in  my  fall, 
"  Would  carry  earthquake  to  remotest  lands, 
"  And  change  the  Christian  globe.     What  would'st  thou 
woman  ? 

"  Thy  fate  and  his,  with  mine,  for  good  or  ill, 
"  Are  woven  threads.  In  my  vast  sum  of  life, 
"  Millions  such  units  merge. 

Enter  First  Courtier. 

F.  Cour.  Madame  de  Mauprat ! 
Pardon,  your  eminence — even  now  I  seek 
This  lady's  home — commanded  by  the  King 
To  pray  her  presence. 

Julie.  ( clinging  to  Richelieu.)  Think  of  my  dead  father  ! 
Think,  how,  an  infant,  clinging  to  your  knees, 
And  looking  to  your  eyes  the  wrinkled  care 
Fled  from  your  brow  before  the  smile  of  childhood, 
Fresh  from  the  dews  of  Heaven  !    Think  of  this, 
And  take  me  to  your  breast. 

Rich.  To  those  who  sent  you  ! 
And  say  you  found  the  virtue  they  would  slay, 
Here — couch'd  upon  this  heart,  as  an  at  altar, 
And  sheltered  by  the  wings  of  sacred  Rome  1 
Begone  ! 

F.  Cour.  My  Lord,  I  am  your  friend  and  servant  ! 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  IV 


Misjudge  me  not  ;  but  never  yet  was  Louis 

So  roused  against  you  ; — shall  I  take  this  answer  ? — 

It  were  to  be  your  foe. 

Rick.  All  time  my  foe. 
If  I,  a  Priest,  could  cast  this  holy  Sorrow 
Forth  from  her  last  asylum  ! 

F.  Cour.  He  is  lost. 

Rich.   God  help  thee,  child  !  she  hears  not !  Look  upon 
her ! 

The  storm  that  rends  the  oak,  uproots  the  flower. 
Her  father  loved  me  so  !  and  in  that  age 
When  friends  are  brothers  !  She  has  been  to  me 
Soother,  nurse,  plaything,  daughter.    Are  these  tears  ? 
Oh  !  shame  1  shame  !  dotage  ! 

Joseph.  Tears  are  not  for  eyes 
That  rather  need  the  lightning,  which  can  pierce 
Through  barred  gates  and  triple  walls,  to  smite 
Crime,  when  it  cowers  in  secret !    The  Despatch  ! 
Set  every  spy  to  work  ;  the  morrow's  sun 
Must  see  that  written  treason  in  your  hands, 
Or  rise  upon  your  ruin. 

Rick.  Ay — and  close 
Upon  my  corpse  !  I  am  not  made  to  live — ■ 
Friends,  glory,  France,  all  reft  from  me  ;  my  star 
Like  some  vain  holiday  mimicry  of  fire, 
Piercing  imperial  heaven,  and  falling  down 
Rayless  and  blacken'd  to  the  dust — a  thing 
For  all  men's  feet  to  trample  I    Yes  !  to-morrow 
Triumph  or  death  !  Look  up,  child  !  Lead  us,  Joseph. 

As  t/iey  are  going  out. 

Enter  Baradas  and  De  Beringhen. 

Bar.  My  Lord,  the  King  cannot  believe  your  Eminence 
So  far  forgets  your  duty,  and  his  greatness. 
As  to  resist  his  mandate  !    Pray  you,  Madam, 
Obey  the  King — no  cause  for  fear  ! 

Julie.  My  father  ! 

Rich.  She  shall  not  stir  ? 

Bar.  You  are  not  of  her  kindred — 
An  orphan — 

Rich.  And  her  country  is  her  mother  ! 


Scene  II.] 


RICHELIEU. 


75 


Bar.  The  country  is  the  King  I 
Rich.  Ay,  is  it  so  ; 
Then  wakes  the  power,  which  in  the  age  of  iron 
Burst  forth  to  curb  the  great,  and  raise  the  low. 
Mark  where  she  stands,  around  her  form  I  draw 
The  awful  circle  of  our  solemn  church  ! 
Set  but  a  foot  within  that  holy  ground, 
And  on  thy  head — yea,  though,  it  wore  a  crown — 
I  launch  the  curse  of  Rome  ! 


I  do  but  speak  the  orders  of  my  King. 
The  church,  you  rank,  power,  very  word,  my  Lord, 
Suffice  you  for  resistance  ; — blame  yourself, 
If  it  should  cost  you  power  ! 


Dark  gamester  !  what  is  thine  ?    Look  at  it  well  ! — 
Lose  not  a  trick.    By  this  same  hour  to-morrow 
Thou  shalt  have  France,  or  I  thy  head  ! 

Bar.  ( aside  to  De  BeringJien.)  He  cannot 
Have  the  Despatch  ? 

De  Ber.  No  :  were  it  so,  your  stake 
were  lost  already. 

Joseph,  (aside.)  Patience  is  your  game  : 
Reflect  you  have  not  the  Despatch  ! 

Rich.  0  !  monk  ! 
Leave  patience  to  the  saints — for  I  am  human  ! 
Did  not  thy  father  die  for  France,  poor  orphan  1 
And  now  they  say  thou  hast  no  father.    Fie  ! 
Art  thou  not  pure  and  good  ?  if  so,  thou  art 
A  part  of  that — the  Beautiful,  the  Sacred — 
Which  in  all  climes,  men  that  have  hearts  adore 
By  the  great  title  of  their  mother  country  ! 

Bar.  ( aside.)  He  wanders  ! 

Rich.  So  cling  close  unto  my  breast, 
Here  where  thou  droop'st — lies  France  !  I  am  very  feeble— 
Of  little  use  it  seems  to  either  now 
Well,  well — we  will  go  home. 

Bar.  In  sooth,  my  Lord, 
You  do  need  rest — burthens  of  the  state 
O'ertask  your  health  ! 

Rich,  (to  Joseph.J  I'm  patient,  see  1 


Rich. 


That  my  stake.    Ah  ! 


RICHELIEU. 


TACT  V 


Bar.  (aside.)  His  mind 
And  life  are  breaking  fast  ? 

Rich  ( overhearing  him.)  Irreverent  ribbald  ! 
If  so,  beware  the  falling  ruins  !    Hark  ! 
I  tell  thee,  scorner  of  these  whitening  hairs, 
When  this  snow  melteth  there  shall  come  a  flood  I 
Avaunt  !  my  name  is  Richelieu — I  defy  thee  ! 
Walk  blindfold  on  ;  behind  thee  stalks  the  headsman. 
Ha  !  ha  ! — how  pale  he  is  !    Heaven  save  my  country  ! 

Falls  bach  in  Joseph's  arms. 
( Exit  Baradas,  followed  by  De  Beringhen,  betraying  his  ex* 
ultation  by  his  gestures.) 

END  OF  ACT  IV. 


ACT  Y. 

FOURTH  DAY. 

Scene  1. —  The  Bastile — a  corridor — in  the  back  ground  tht 

door  of  one  of  the  condemned  cells. 

Enter  Joseph  and  Gaoler. 

Gaoler.  Stay,  father,  I  will  call  the  Governor. 

[Exit  Gaoler 

Jos.  He  has  it,  then — this  Huguet, — so  we  learn 
From  Francois  : — Humph  1    Now  if  I  can  but  gain 
One  moment's  access,  all  is  ours  !    The  Cardinal 
Trembles  'tween  life  and  death.    His  life  is  power. — 
Smite  one — slay  both  1    No  iEsculapian  drugs, 
By  learned  quacks  baptized  with  Latin  jargon, 
E're  bore  the  healing  which  that  scrap  of  parchment 
Will  medicine  to  Ambition's  flagging  heart. 
France  shall  be  saved — and  Joseph  be  a  bishop  1 
Enter  Governor  and  Gaoler. 

Gov.  Father,  You  wish  to  see  the  prisoners  Huguet 
And  the  young  knight  De  Mauprat  ? 


Scene  I.] 


RICHELIEU. 


Jos.  So  my  office, 
And  the  Lord  Cardinal's  order  warrant,  son  ! 

Gov.  Father,  it  cannot  be  ;  Count  Baradas 
Has  summoned  to  the  Louvre  Sieur  De  Mauprat. 

Jos.  Well,  well  !    But  Huguet— 

Gov.  Dies  at  noon  ! 

Jos.  At  noon  ! 
No  moment  to  delay  the  pious  rites 
Which  fit  the  soul  for  death — quick,  quick — admit  me  ! 

Gov.  You  cannot  enter  monk  I  Such  are  my  orders  ! 

Jos.  Orders  !  vain  man  1 — the  Cardinal  still  is  minister. 
His  orders  crush  all  others  ! 

Gov.  (lifting  his  hat.)  Save  his  king's  ! 
See,  monk,  the  royal  sign  and  seal  affix'd 
To  the  Count's  mandate.    None  may  have  access 
To  either  prisoner,  Huguet  or  De  Mauprat, 
Not  even  a  priest,  without  the  special  passport 
Of  Count  De  Baradas.    I'll  hear  no  more  ! 

Jos.  Just  Heaven  !  and  are  we  baffled  thus  ! — Despair  ! 
Think  on  the  Cardinal's  power — beware  his  anger. 

Gov.  I'll  not  be  menaced,  Priest  I  Besides,  the  Cardinal 
Is  dying  and  disgraced — all  Paris  knows  it. 
You  hear  the  prisoner's  knell  [Bell  tolls. 

Jos.  I  do  beseech  you — 
The  Cardinal  is  not  dying — But  one  moment 
And — hist  ! — five  thousand  pistoles  ! — 

Gov.  How  !  a  bribe, 
And  to  a  soldier  gray  with  years  of  honour  ! 
Begone  ! — 

Jos.  Ten  thousand — twenty  ! — 

Gov.  Gaoler — put  this 
Monk  without  the  walls. 

Jos.  By  those  gray  hairs, 
Yea,  by  this  badge  (touching  the  cross  of  St.  Louis  worn  by 

the  Governor. J — the  guerdon  of  your  valour — 
By  all  our  toils — hard  days  and  sleepless  nights — 
Borne  in  your  country's  service,  noble  son — 
Let  me  but  see  the  prisoner  ! — 

Gov.  No  !— 

Jos.  He  hath 
Secrets  of  state — papers  in  which 
g* 


78 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  V 


Gov.  (Interrupting.)  I  know — 
Such  was  his  message  to  Count  Baradas, 
Doubtless  the  Count  will  see  to  it — 

Jos.  The  Count  ! 
Then  not  a  hope  ! — you  shall — 

Gov.  Betray  my  trust  ! 
Never — not  one  word  more — you  heard  me,  gaoler  ? 

Jos.  What  can  be  done  ? — distraction  ! — Richelieu  yet 
Must — what  ? — I  know  not — thought,  nerve  strength,  for- 
sake me. 

Dare  You  refuse  the  Church  her  holiest  rights  ? 
Gov.  I  refuse  nothing — I  obey  my  orders — 
Jos.  And  sell  your  country  to  her  parricides,  ! 

Oh,  tremble  yet — Richelieu   3***^ 

Gov.  Begone  ! 

Jos.  Undone  !  [Exit  Joseph. 

Gov.  A  most  audacious  shaveling — interdicted, 
Above  all  others,  by  the  Count — 

Gaoler.  I  hope,  Sir, 
I  shall  not  lose  my  perquisites.    The  Sieur 
De  Mauprat  will  not  be  reprieved  ? 

Gov.  Oh,  fear  not  : 
The  Count's  commands  by  him  who  came  for  Mauprat 
Are  to  prepare  headsman  and  axe  by  noon  ; 
The  Count  will  give  you  perquisites  enough  ; 
Two  deaths  in  one  day  ! 

Gaoler.  Sir,  may  Heaven  reward  him  1 
Oh,  by  the  way,  that  troublesome  young  fellow, 
Who  calls  himself  the  prisoner  Huguet's  son, 
Is  here  again — implores,  weeps,  raves,  to  see  him. 

Gov.  Poor  youth,  I  pity  him  ! 

Enter  De  Beringhen,  followed  by  Francois. 

I)e  Ber.  (to  Francois.)  Now,  prithee,  friend, 
Let  go  my  cloak  ;  you  really  discompose  me. 

Fran.  No,  they  will  drive  me  hence  :  my  father  !  Oh  ! 
Let  me  but  see  him  once — but  once — one  moment  I 

De  Ber.  (to  Governor.^  Your  servant,  Messire, — this 
poor  rascal,  Huguet, 
Has  sent  to  see  the  Count  De  Baradas 
Upon  state  secrets  that  afflict  his  conscience. 


Scene  I.] 


RICHELIEU. 


The  Count  can't  leave  his  Majesty  for  an  instant ; 
I  am  his  proxy, 

Gov  The  Count's  word  is  law  1 
Again,  young  scapegrace  !    How  com'st  thou  admitted  ? 

De  Ber.  Oh  I  a  most  filial  fellow  :  Huguet's  son  1 
I  found  him  whimpering  in  the  court  below. 
I  pray  his  leave  to  say  good  bye  to  father, 
Before  that  very  long  unpleasant  journey 
Father's  about  to  take.    Let  him  wait  here 
Till  I  return. 

Fran.  No  ;  take  me  with  you. 

De  Ber.  Nay  ; 
After  me,  friend  the  public  first  I 

Gov.  The  Count's 
Commands  are  strict.    No  one  must  visit  Huguet 
Without  his  passport 

De  Ber.  Here  it  is  !  Pshaw  !  nonsense  I 
I'll  be  your  surety.    See,  my  Cerberus, 
He  is  no  Hercules  ! 

Gov.  Well,  you're  responsible. 
Stand  there,  friend.    If,  when  you  come  out,  my  Lord ; 
The  youth  slip  in,  'tis  pour  fault. 

De  Ber.  So  it  is  ! 

[Exit  through  the,  door  of  cell,  followed  by  the  Gaoler. 

Gov.  Be  calm,  my  lad.    Don't  fret  so.    I  had  once 
A  father  too  !    I'll  not  be  hard  upon  you, 
And  so  stand  close.    I  must  not  see  you  enter  ; 
You  understand.    Between  this  innocent  youth 
And  that  intriguing  monk  there  is,  in  truth, 
A  wide  distinction. 

Re-enter  Gaoler. 

Come,  we'll  go  our  rounds  : 
I'll  give  you  just  one  quarter  of  an  hour  ; 
And  if  my  Lord  leave  first,  make  my  excuse 
Yet  stay,  the  gallery's  long  and  dark  ;  no  sentry 
Until  he  reach  the  grate  below.    He'd  best 
Wait  till  I  come.    If  he  should  lose  the  way, 
We  may  not  be  in  call. 

Fran.  I'll  tell  him  sir, —  [Exeunt  Gov.  and  Gaoler. 
He's  a  wise  son  that  knoweth  his  own  father. 


80 


RICHELIEU. 


[ActV 


I've  forged  a  precious  one  !    So  far,  so  well ! 

Alas,  what  then  ?  this  wretch  has  sent  to  Baradas — 

Will  sell  the  scroll  to  ransom  life.    Oh,  Heaven  ! 

On  what  a  thread  hangs  hope  !  [Listens  at  the  door. 

Loud  words — a  cry  !  [Looks  through  the  key-hole. 

They  struggle  1  Ho  ! — the  packet !  1 ! 

[  Tries  to  open  the  door. 

Lost  I  He  has  it — 

The  courtier  has  it — Huguet,  spite  his  chains, 
Grapples  ! — well  done  I    Now — now  !         [Draws  back 
The  gallery's  long  ! 
And  this  is  left  us  ! 

[Drawing  his  dagger,  and  standing  behind  the  door.'] 
Re-enter  De  Beringhen,  with  the  packet. 
Victory  f    Yield  it  robber — 

Yield  it — or  die —  [A  short  struggle. 

De  Ber  Off  !  ho  !— there  !— 

Francois,  (grappling  with  him.)  Death  or  honour  ! 

Exeunt  struggling. 

Scene  II. —  The  King's  closet  at  the  Louvre.      A  suite  of 
rooms  in  perspective  at  one  side. 
Baradas,  and  Orleans. 

Bar.  All  smiles  !  the  Cardinal's  swoon  of  yesterday 
Heralds  his  death  to-day  ;  could  he  survive, 
It  would  not  be  as  minister — so  great 
The  King's  resentment  at  the  priest's  defiance  ! 
All  smiles !  and  yet,  should  this  accurs'd  De  Mauprat 
Have  given  our  packet  to  another — 'Sdeath  I 
I  dare  not  think  of  it  1 

Orleans.    You've  sent  to  search  him  ? 

Bar.  Sent,  Sir,  to  search  ? — that  hireling  hands  may  find 
Upon  him,  naked,  with  its  broken  seal, 
That  scroll  whose  every  word  is  death  1    No — no — 
These  hands  alone  must  clutch  that  awful  secret. 
I  dare  not  leave  the  palace,  night  nor  day, 
While  Richelieu  lives — his  minions — creatures — spies— 
Not  one  must  reach  the  king  1 

Orleans.  What  hast  thou  done  ? 

Bar  Summon'd  De  Mauprat  hither. 

Orleans.  Could  this  Huguet, 


t 

Scene  II.] 


KICHELIEU. 


81 


Who  pray'd  thy  presence  with  so  fierce  a  fervour, 
Have  thieved  the  scroll  ? 

Bar.  Huguet  was  housed  with  us, 
The  very  moment  we  dismiss'd  the  courier. 
It  cannot  be  !  a  stale  trick  for  reprieve. 
But,  to  make  sure,  I've  sent  our  truest  friend 
To  see  and  sift  him.    Hist  !  here  comes  the  King. 
How  fare  you,  Sire  ? 

Enter  Louis. 

Louis.  In  the  same  mind  I  have 
Decided  !  yes,  he  would  forbid  your  presence, 
My  brother, — your's,  my  friend, — then,  Julie,  too  ; 
Thwarts — braves — defies — ( suddenly  turning  to  Baradas.J 

We  make  you  minister. 
Gaston,  for  you — the  baton  of  our  armies. 
You  love  me,  do  you  not  ? 

Orleans.  Oh,  love  you,  Sire  ? 
( Aside )  Never  so  much  as  now. 

Bar.  May  I  deserve 
Your  trust  ( aside,) — until  you  sign  your  abdication  ! 
My  liege,  but  one  way  left  to  daunt  De  Mauprat, 
And  Julie  to  divorce. — We  must  prepare 
The  death-writ  ;  what,  tho'  sign'd  and  seal'd  ?  we  can 
Withhold  the  enforcement. 

Louis.  Ah,  you  may  prepare  it  ; 
We  need  not  urge  it  to  effect. 

Bar.  Exactly  I 

No  haste,  my  liege  (looking  at  his  watch  and  aside.)  He  may 
live  one  hour  longer. 

Enter  Courtier. 

Court.  The  Lady  Julie,  Sire,  implores  an  audience. 

Louis.  Aha  !  repentant  of  her  folly  ! — Well. 
Admit  her. 

Bar.  Sire,  she  comes  for  Mauprat's  pardon, 
And  the  conditions  

Louis.  You  are  minister, 
We  leave  to  you  our  answer. 

As  Julie  enters, — the  Captain  of  the  Archers,  by  another 
door, — and  whispers  Baradas. 


82 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  Y. 


Capt.  The  Chevalier 
De  Mauprat  waits  below. 

Bar.  ( aside.)  Now  the  despatch  I 

[Exit  with  Officer, 

Enter  Julie. 

Julie.  My  liege,  you  sent  for  me.    I  come  where  Grief 
Should  come  when  guiltless,  while  the  name  of  King 
Is  holy  on  the  earth  ! — Here,  at  the  feet 
Of  Power,  I  kneel  for  mercy. 

Ijouis.  Mercy,  Julie, 
Is  an  affair  of  state.    The  Cardinal  should 
In  this  be  your  interpreter. 

Jnlie.  Alas  ! 
I  know  not  if  that  mighty  spirit  now 
Stoops  to  the  things  of  earth.    Nay,  while  I  speak, 
Perchance  he  hears  the  orphan  by  the  throne 
Where  Kings  themselves  need  pardon  j  0,  my  liege, 
Be  father  to  the  fatherless  ;  in  you 
Dwells  my  last  hope  ! 

Enter  Baradas. 

Bar.  ( aside.)  He  has  not  the  despatch  ; 
Smiled  while  we  search'd,  and  braves  me. — Oh  I 

Louis,  (gently.)  What  would'st  thou  ? 

Julie.  A  single  life. — You  reign  o'er  millions. — What 
Is  one  man's  life  to  you  ? — and  yet  to  me 
'Tis  France — 'tis  earth — 'tis  everything  ! — a  life 
A  human  life — my  husband's. 

Louis,  (aside.)  Speak  to  her, 
I  am  not  marble, — give  her  hope — or — 

Bar.  Madam, 
Yex  not  your  king,  whose  heart,  too  soft  for  justice, 
Leaves  to  his  ministers  that  solemn  charge. 

[Louis  walks  up  tlue  stage. 

Julie.  You  were  his  friend. 
Bar.  I  was,  before  I  loved  thee. 
Julie.  Loved  me  ! 

Bar.  Hush,  Julie  :  could'st  thou  misinterpret 
My  acts,  thoughts,  motives,  nay,  my  very  words, 
Here — in  this  palace  ? 


Scene  II.] 


RICHELIEU. 


33 


Julie.  Now  I  know  I'm  mad, 
Even  that  memory  fail'd  me. 

Bar.  I  am  young, 
Well-born  and  brave  as  Mauprat : — for  thy  sake 
I  peril  what  he  has  not — fortune — power  ; 
All  to  great  souls  most  dazzling.    I  alone 
Can  save  thee  from  thy  tyrant,  now  my  puppet  ! 
Be  mine  :  annul  the  mockery  of  this  marriage, 
And,  on  the  day  I  clasp  thee  to  my  breast, 
De  Mauprat  shall  be  free. 

Julie.  Thou  durst  not  speak 
Thus  in  his  ear  (pointing  to  Louis  )  Thou  double  traitor  ! — 

tremble. 
I  will  unmask  thee. 

Bar.  I  will  say  thou  ravest. 
And  see  this  scroll  !  its  letters  shall  be  blood  1 
Go  to  the  King,  count  with  me  word  for  word  : 
And  while  you  pray  the  life — I  write  the  sentence  ! 

Julie.  Stay,  stay.  ( rushing  to  the  king.)   You  have  a  kind 
and  princely  heart, 
Tho'  sometimes  it  is  silent :  you  were  born 
To  power — it  has  not  flushed  you  into  madness, 
As  it  doth  meaner  men.    Banish  my  husband — 
Dissolve  our  marriage — cast  me  to  that  grave 
Of  human  ties,  where  hearts  congeal  to  ice, 
In  the  dark  convent's  everlasting  winter — 
(Surely  eno'  for  justice — hate — revenge — ) 
But  spare  this  life,  thus  lonely,  scathed,  and  bloomless  ; 
And  when  thou  stand'st  for  judgment  on  thine  own, 
The  deed  shall  shine  beside  thee  as  an  angel. 

Louis.  ( much  affected.)   Go,  go,  to  Baradas  :  and  annul 
thy  marriage, 

And- — 

Julie,  (anxiously,  and  ivatching  his  countenance.)  Be  his 
bride  ! 

Louis.  A  form,  a  mere  decorum  ; 
Thou  know'st  I  love  thee. 

Julie.  0  thou  sea  of  shame, 
And  not  one  star.    ( The  King  goes  up  the  stage,  and  passes 

through  the  suite  of  rooms  at  the  side  in  evident  emotion.) 


84 


RICHELIEU. 


Act  V. 


Bar.  Well,  thy  election,  Julie  : 
This  hand — his  grave  ! 

Julie.  His  grave  !  and  I — 

Bar.  Can  save  him. 
Swear  to  be  mine. 

Julie.  That  were  a  bitterer  death  ! 
Avaunt,  thon  tempter  !    I  did  ask  his  life 
A  boon,  and  not  the  barter  of  dishonour. 
The  heart  can  break,  and  scorn  you  ;  wreak  your  malice  ; 
Adrien  and  I  will  leave  you  this  sad  earth, 
And  pass  together  hand  in  hand  to  Heaven  ! 

Bar.  You  have  decided.  ( withdraws  to  the  side  scene  for 
a  mo?nent,  and  returns.)  Listen  to  me,  Lady  ; 
I  am  no  base  intriguer.    I  adored  thee 
From  the  first  glance  of  those  inspiring  eyes  ; 
With  thee  entwined  ambition,  hope,  the  future. 
1  will  not  lose  thee !    I  can  place  thee  nearest — 
Ay,  to  the  throne — nay,  on  the  throne,  perchance 
My  star  is  at  its  zenith.    Look  upon  me  ; 
Hast  thou  decided  ? 

Julie.  No,  no  ;  you  can  see 
How  weak  I  am;  be  human,  Sir — one  moment. 

Baradas,  ( stamping  his  foot,  De  Mauprat  appears  at  the 
side  of  the  stage,  guarded,) 
Behold  thy  husband  ! — Shall  he  pass  to  death, 
And  know  thou  could'st  have  saved  him  ? 

Julie.  Adrien,  speak  ! 
But  say  you  wish  to  live ! — if  not  your  wife, 
Your  slave, — do  with  me  as  you  will  ? 

De  Maup.  Once  more  ! — 
Why  this  is  mercy,  Count  !    Oh,  think,  my  Julie, 
Life,  at  the  best,  is  short  but  love  immortal  ! 

Baradas,  ( taking  Julie's  hand.)  Ah,  loveliest — 

Julie.  Go,  that  touch  has  made  me  iron. 
We  have  decided — death  ! 

Bar.  ( to  De  MadpratJ  JStow,  say  to  whom 
Thou  gavest  the  packet,  and  thou  yet  shalt  live. 

De  Maup.  I'll  tell  thee  nothing. 

Bar.  Hark, — the  rack  ! 

De  Maup.  Thy  penance 


Scene  II.] 


RICHELIEU. 


85 


For  ever,  wretch  ! — What  rack  is  like  the  conscience  ? 
Julie.  I  shall  be  with  thee  soon. 

Bar.  ( giving  the  writ  to  the  Officer.)  Hence  to  the  headsman. 

[The  doors  are  thrown  open.     The  Huissier  announce* 
"  His  Eminence  the  Cardinal  Duke  de  Richelieu." 
Enter  Richelieu,  attended  by  Gentlemen,  Pages,  Sfc.,  pale, 
feeble,  leaning  on  Joseph,  followed  by  three  Secretaries 
of  State,  attended  by  Sub-secretaries  with  papers,  SfC 
Jnlie,  (rushing  to  Richelieu.)    You  live — you  live — and 

Adrien  shall  not  die  ! 
Rich.  Not  if  an  old  man's  prayers,  himself  near  death, 
Can  aught  avail  thee,  daughter  !    Count,  you  now 
Hold  what  I  held  on  earth  : — one  boon,  my  Lord, 
This  soldier's  life. 

Bar.  The  stake — my  head  I — you  said  it 
I  cannot  lose  one  trick. 
Julie.  No  1 — No  ! — 

Enter  Louis  from  the  rooms  beyond. 
Rich,   (to  officer.)  Stay,  Sir,  one  moment.      My  good 
liege, 

Your  worn-out  servant,  willing,  Sire,  to  spare  you 
Some  pain  of  conscience,  would  forestall  your  wishes. 
I  do  resign  my  office. 

De  Maup.  You  1 

Julie.  All's  over. 

Rich.  My  end  draws  near.     These  sad  ones,  Sire,  I 
love  them, 
I  do  not  ask  his  life  ;  but  suffer  justice 
To  halt,  until  I  can  dismiss  his  soul, 
Charged  with  an  old  man's  blessing. 

Louis.  Surely  ! 

Bar.  Sire  

Louis.  Silence — small  favour  to  a  dying  servant. 

Rich.  You  would  consign  your  armies  to  the  baton 
Of  your  most  honour'd  brother.    Sire,  so  be  it  ! 
Your  minister,  the  Count  de  Baradas  ; 
A  most  sagacious  choice  ! — Your  Secretaries 
Of  State  attend  me,  Sire,  to  tender  up 
The  ledgers  of  of  a  realm.— I  do  beseech  you, 
Suffer  these  noble  gentlemen  to  learn 


80 


KICHi,  sitC. 


|  Act  Y. 


The  nature  of  the  glorious  task  that  awaits  them, 
Here,  in  my  presence. 

Louis.  You  say  well,  my  Lord. 
(  To  secretaries  as  he  seats  himself.)  Approach,  Sirs. 

Rich.  I — I — faint ! — air — air — 

[Joseph  and  a  gentleman  assist  him  to  a  sofa,  placed 
beneath  a  window. 
I  thank  you — 
Draw  near,  my  children. 

Bar.  He's  too  weak  to  question, 
Nay,  scarce  to  speak  ;  all's  safe. 

SCENE  III. — Manent  Richelieu,  Mauprat  and  Julie, 
the  last  kneeling  leside  the  Cardinal ;  the  officer  of  the  guard 
behind  Mauprat.  Joseph  near  Richelieu,  watching  the 
King.  Louis.  Baradas  at  the  back  of  the  King's  chair, 
anxious  and  disturbed.  Orleans  at  a  greater  distance, 
careless  and  triumphant.  The  Secretaries.  As  each  Secre- 
tary advances  in  his  turn  he  takes  the  portfolios  from  the 
Sub-secretaries. 

First  Secretary  The  affairs  of  Portugal, 
Most  urgent,  Sire  ; — One  short  month  since  the  Duke 
Braganza  was  a  rebel. 

Louis.  And  is  still ! 

First  Secretary.  No,  Sire  ;  he  has  succeeded !    He  is  now 
Crown'd  King  of  Portugal — craves  instant  succour 
Against  the  arms  of  Spain. 

Louis.  We  will  not  grant  it 
Against  his  lawful  king.    Eh,  Count  ? 

Bar.  No,  Sire. 

First  Secretary.  But  Spain's  your  deadliest  foe  ;  whatever 
Can  weaken  Spain  must  strengthen  France.     The  Cardinal 
Would  send  the  succours  ; — (solemnly,) — balance,  Sire,  of 
Europe  ! 

Louis.  The  Cardinal  ! — balance  ! — We'll  consider. — Eh, 

Count  ? 
Bar.  Yes,  Sire  ;  fall  back. 

First  Secretary.  But  

Bar.  Oh  !  fall  back,  Sir. 
Joseph.    Humph  ! 

Second  Secretary.  The  affairs  of  England,  Sire,  most  ur- 
gent ;  Charles 


Scene  II.] 


RICHELIEU. 


87 


The  First  has  lost  a  battle  that  decides 

One-half  his  realm — craves  moneys,  Sire,  aiid  succour. 

Louis.  He  shall  have  both. — Eh,  Baradas  ? 

Bar.  Yes,  Sire. 
(Oh  that  Despatch  ! — my  veins  are  fire  !) 

Hick,  (feeble,  but  with  great  distinctness.)  My  liege, 

Forgive  me,  Charles's  cause  is  lost  !    A  man, 
Named  Cromwell,  risen — a  great  man  !  your  succour 
Would  fail — your  loans  be  squander'd  !    Pause — reflect.(l) 

Louis.  Reflect.    Eh,  Baradas  ? 

Bar.  Reflect,  Sire. 

Joseph.  Humph  ! 

Louis.  ( aside.)  I  half  repent !   No  successor  to  Richelieu 
Round  me  thrones  totter  !  dynasties  dissolve  ! 
The  soil  he  guards  alone  escapes  the  earthquake  ! 

Joseph.  Our  star  not  yet  eclipsed  ! — you  mark  the  King  ? 
Oh  !  had  we  the  Despatch  ! 

Rich.  Ah  !  Joseph  !  Child- 
Would  I  could  help  thee. 

Enter  Gentleman,  whispers  Joseph,  they  exeunt  hastily. 
Bar.  ( to  Secretary.^  Sir,  fall  back. 
Second  Secretary.  But — 
Bar.  Pshaw,  Sir  ! 

Third  Secretary,  (mysteriously.)      The  secret  correspon- 
dence, Sire,  most  urgent — 
Accounts  of  spies — deserters — heretics — 
Assassins — poisoners — schemes  against  yourself  ! 

Louis.  Myself!  most  urgent  !  [Looking  on  the  documents. 

Re-enter  Joseph  with  Francois,  whose  pourpoint  is  streaked 
with  Mood.  Francois  passes  behind  the  Cardinal's  attendants^ 
and  sheltered  by  them  from  the  sight  of  Baradas,  <^c,  falls 
it  Richelieu's  feet. 

Francois.  0  1  my  Lord  I 
Rich.  Thou  art  bleeding  ! 

Francois.  A  scratch — I  have  not  fail'd  !  [gives  the  packet 
Rich.  Hush  I  [looking  at  the  contents. 

Third  Secretary,  ( to  King.  J  Sire,  the  Spaniards 

Have  reinforced  their  army  on  the  frontiers, 

The  Due  de  Bouillon  " 


88 


RICHELIEU. 


[Act  T. 


Etch.  Hold  !    In  this  department — 
A  paper — here,  Sire, — rend  yourself — then  take  . 
The  Count's  advice  in't. 

Enter  De  Beringhen  hastily,  and  draws  aside  Baradas. 

("Richelieu,  to  Secretary,  giring  an  open  'parchment.) 

Bar.  (bursting  from  De  BeiunghenJ  What  I  and  reft  it  ! 
from  thee  ! 
Ha  !— hold  ! 

Joseph.  Fall  back,  sou  it  is  your  turn  now  I 

Bar.  Death  !— the  Despatch  1 

Louis,  (reading.)    To  Bouillon — and  sign'd  Orleans  ! — 
Baradas  too — league  with  our  foes  of  Spain  ! — 
Lead  our  Italian  armies — what !  to  Paris  ! — 
Capture  the  King — my  health  requires  repose  ! 
Make  me  subscribe  my  proper  abdication ! 
Orleans,  my  brother,  Regent !  Saints  of  Heaven  I 
These  are  the  men  I  loved  1     Baradas  draws, — attempts 
to  rush  out, — is  arrcste/l.    Orleans,  endeavoring  to  es- 
cape more  quickly,  mecls  Joseph's  eye,  and  stops  short. 
Richelieu  falls  back. 

Joseph.  See  to  the  Cardinal  1 

Bar.  He's  dying  ! — and  I  yet  shall  dupe  the  King  ! 

Louis,  (rushing  to  Richeijeu.J  Richelieu  ! — Lord  Car- 
dinal ! — 'tis  I  resign  ! — 
Reign  thou  ! 

Joseph.  Alas  !  too  late  ! — he  faints  ! 

Lends.  Reign,  Richelieu  ! 

Bichclieu  (feebly.)  With  absolute  power  ? — 

Louis.  Most  absolute  ! — Oh,  live  1 
If  not  for  me — for  France  I 

Rich.  France  ! 

Louis.  Oh  1  this  treason  I 
The  army — Orleans — Bouillon — Heavens  !  the  Spaniard  ! 
Where  will  they  be  next  week  ?  

Rich,  (starting  up.)  There, — at  my  feet ! 
(To  First  and  Second  Secretary.)    Ere  the  clock  strike  ! — 

The  Envoys  have  their  answer  ! 
(To  Third  Secretary,  with  a  ring.)   This  to  De  Chavigny— 

he  knows  the  rest — 
No  need  of  parchment  here — he  must  not  halt 


Scene  III.] 


RICHELIEU. 


89 


For  sleep — for  food — In  my  name, — mine — he  will 
Arrest  the  Due  de  Bouillon  at  the  head 
Of  his  army  ! — Ho  !  there,  Count  de  Baradas 
Thou  hast  lost  the  stake  ! — Away  with  him  !  (2) 

[As  the  Guards  opens  the  folding-doors,  a  view  of  the  ante- 
room beyond,  lined  with  Courtiers  Baradas  passes  thro* 
t/ie  line. 
Ha  !— ha  !— 

[Snatching  De  Mauprat's  death  warrant  from  the  Officer 
See  here,  De  Mauprat's  death-writ,  Julie  ! — 
Parchment  for  battledores  ! — Embrace  your  husband  ! 
At  last  the  old  man  blesses  you  1 

Julie.  0  joy  ! 
You  are  saved,  you  live — I  hold  you  in  these  arms. 

De  Maup.  Never  to  part — 

Julie.  No — never.  Adrien — never  ! 

Louis,  (peevishly).  One  moment  makes  a  startling  cure, 
Lord  Cardinal.  (3) 

Rich.  Ay,  Sire,  for  in  one  moment  there  did  pass 
Into  this  wither'd  frame  the  might  of  France  ! — 
My  own  dear  France — I  have  thee  yet — I  have  saved  thee  ! 
I  clasp  thee  still  ! — it  was  thy  voice  that  call'd  me 
Back  from  the  tomb  !    What  mistress  like  our  country  ? 

Louis.  For  Mauprat's  pardon  ! — well  !    But  Julie, — 
Richelieu  ! 
Leave  me  one  thing  to  love  ! 

Rich.  A  subject's  luxury  ! 
Yet,  if  you  must  love  something,  Sire, — love  me  ? 

Louis,  (smiling  in  spite  of  himself.)   Fair  proxy  for  a 
young  fresh  Demoiselle  ! 

Rich.  Your  heart  speaks  for  my  clients  : — kneel,  my  child- 
ren, 

And  thank  your  King — 

Julie.  Ah,  tears  like  these,  my  liege, 
Are  dews  that  mount  to  Heaven. 
Louis.  Rise — rise — be  happy. 

[Richelieu  beckons  to  De  Bering  hen. 
JDe  Ber.  (falteringly).     My  lord — you  are  most  happily 
recover'd. 

Rich.  But  you  are  pale,  dear  Beringhcn  : — this  air 
Suits  not  your  delicate  frame — I  long  have  thought  so 

H* 


90 


RICHELIEU. 


fAcT  t 


Sleep  nor  another  night  in  Paris  : — Go. — 
Or  else  your  precious  life  may  be  in  danger. 
Leave  France,  dear  Beringheu  ! 

Dc  Ber.  I  shall  have  time, 
More  than  I  ask'd  for.  to  discuss  the  pate.  [Exit. 

MuM.  (to  Orleans, )  For  you,  repentance — absence,  and 
coufession  ! 

(To  Francois.")  Never  sav  fail  ajrain.    Brave  Bov  ! 
(To  Joseph;  Jlell  be— 
A  Bishop  Mrs:. 

JostpA.  Ah.  Cardiual — 

Rick  Ah.  Joseph, 

( To  Louis,  as  Ik  Mauprat  and  Julie  converse  rpart.) 
See.  my  liege — see  thro'  plots  and  counterplots — 
Thro*  gain  and  loss — thro'  glory  and  disgrace- — 
Along  the  plains,  where  passionate  Discord  rears 
Eternal  Babel — still  the  holy  stream 
Of  human  happiness  glides  on  ! 

Louis.  And  must  we 
Thauk  for  that  also — onr  prime  minister  ? 

HicA.  No — let  us  own  it  : — there  is  One  above 
Sways  the  harmonious  mystery  of  the  world 
Ev'u  better  than  prime  ministers. 
Alas  ! 

Our  glories  float  between  the  earth  aud  heaven 
Like  clouds  that  seem  pavilions  of  the  sun, 
And  are  the  playthings  of  the  casual  wind  ; 
Still,  like  the  cloud  which  drops  on  unseen  crags 
The  dews  the  wild  flower  feeds  on.  our  ambition 
May  from  its  airy  height  drop  gladness  down 
On  unsuspected  virtue  ;  and  the  flower 
May  Mess  the  clould  when  it  hath  poofd  away.  (4) 


THE  E>D 


NOTES  TO  RICHELIEU. 


NOTES  TO  ACT  L 

(1)  Olivares,  Minister  of  Spain. 

(2)  There  are  many  anecdotes  of  the  irony,  often  so  tei»ble,  in  -which 
Kichelieu  indulged.  But  he  had  a  love  for  humour  in  its  more  hearty  and 
genial  shape.  He  would  send  for  Boisrobert  "  to  make  him  laugh," — and 
grave  ministers  and  magnates  waited  in  the  ante-room,  while  the  great 
Cardinal  listened  and  responded  to  the  sallies  of  the  lively  wit. 

(3)  The  Abbe  Arnaud  tells  us  that  the  queen  was  a  little  avenged  on  the 
Cardinal  by  the  ill-success  of  the  tragic  comedy  of  Mirame — more  than 
suspected  to  be  his  own — though  presented  to  the  world  under  the  foster 
name  of  Desmarets.  Its  representation  (says  Pelisson)  cost  him  300,000 
crowns.  He  was  so  transported  out  of  himself  by  the  performance,  that  at 
one  time,  he  thrust  his  person  half  out  of  his  box  to  show  himself  to  the 
assembly ;  at  another  time  he  imposed  silence  on  the  audience  that  they 
might  not  lose  "  des  endroits  encore  plus  beauxP  He  said  afterwards  to 
Desmarets  ;  "  Eh  bien,  les  Francais  n'auront  done  jamais  de  gout.  lis 
n'ont  pas  ete  charmes  de  Mirame  !"  Arnaud  says  pithily,  "  On  ne  pouvoit 
alors  avoir  d'autre  satisfaction  des  offenses  d'un  nomme  qui  £toit  maitre  de 
tout,  et  redoutable  a  tout  le  monde.  "  Nevertheless  his  style  in  prose, 
though  not  devoid  of  the  pedantic  affectations  of  the  time,  often  rises  into 
very  noble  eloquence. 

(4)  "  Vialart  remarque  unc  chose  qui  peut  expliquer  la  conduite  de  Ri- 
chelieu en  d'autres  circonstances  ; — e'est  que  les  seigneurs  a  qui  leur  nais- 
sance  ou  leur  merite  pouvoit  permettre  des  pr^tensious,  il  avoit  pour  sys- 
teme,  de  leur  accorder  au-dela  meme  de  leurs  droits  et  de  leurs  esperances, 
mais,  aussi,  une  fois  combles — si,  au  lieu  de  reconnoitre  ses  services  ils  se 
levoient  contre  lui,  il  les  traitoit  sans  misericorde.'r — Anquetil.  See  also 
the  Political  Testament,  and  the  Memoires  de  Cardinal  Richelieu,  in  Peti- 
tot's  collection. 

(5)  "  Tantot  fonatique — tontot  fourbe — fonder  les  religieuses  de  Calvaire 
—faire  des  vers/'  Thus  speaks  Voltaire  of  Father  Joseph.  His  talents 
and  influence  with  Richelieu,  grossly  exaggerated  in  his  own  day,  are  now 
rightfully  estimated. 

C'etoit  en  effet  un  homme  indefatigable — portant  dans  les  entrepriscs 
Tactivite,  la  souplesse,  l'opiniatrete  propres  a  les  faire  reussir." — Anquetil. 
He  wrote  a  Latin  poem  called  "  La  Turciade,"  in  which  he  sought  to  ex- 
cite the  kingdoms  of  Christendom  against  the  Turks.  But  the  inspiration 
af  Tyrtseus  was  denied  to  Father  Joseph. 


NOTES  TO  ACT  n. 

(1)  Richelieu  not  only  employed  the  lowest,  but  would  often  consult  men 
commonly  esteemed  the  dullest.  "  II  disoit  que  dans  des  choses  de  tres 
grande  importance,  il  avait  experiments,  que  les  raoins  sages  dornoient 
souvent  les  meillieurs  expedieus." — I<e  Clerc, 


92 


RICHELIEU 


(2)  Both  Richeli  m  and  Joseph  -were  originally  intf  aded  for  the  profes- 
sion of  arms.  Joseph  had  served  before  he  obeyed  t he  spiritual  inspira- 
tion to  become  a  Capuchin.  The  death  of  his  brother  opened  to  Richelieu 
the  Bishopric  of  Lucon  ;  but  his  militar}'  propensities  were  as  strong  as 
his  priestly  ambition.  I  need  scarcely  add  that  the  Cardinal,  during  his 
brilliant  campaign  in  Italy,  marched  at  the  head  of  his  troops  in  complete 
armour.  It  was  under  his  administration  that  occurs  the  last  example  of  pro- 
claiming war  by  the  chivalric  defiance  of  herald  and  cartel.  Richelieu 
valued  himself  much  on  his  personal  activity, — for  his  vanity  was  as  uni- 
versal as  his  ambition.  A  nobleman  at  the  house  of  Grammont  one  day 
found  him  employed  in  jumping,  and,  with  all  the  savoir  vivre  of  a  French- 
man and  a  courtier,  offered  to  jump  against  him.  He  suffered  the  Cardinal 
to  jump  higher,  and  soon  after  found  himself  rewarded  by  an  appoint- 
ment. Yet,  strangely  enough,  this  vanity  did  not  lead  to  a  patronage  in- 
jurious to  the  state  ;  for  never  before  in  France  was  ability  made  so  es- 
sential a  requisite  in  promotion.  He  was  lucky  in  finding  the  cleverest 
fellows  among  his  adroitest  flatterers. 

(3)  Voltaire  openly  charges  Richelieu  with  being  the  lover  of  Marion  de 
Lorine,  whom  the  great  poet  of  France,  Victor  Hugo,  has  sacrificed  His- 
tory to  adorn  with  qualities  which  were  certainly  not  added  to  her  personal 
charms. — She  was  not  less  perfidious  than  beautiful. — Le  Clerc,  properly, 
refutos  the  accusation  of  Voltaire,  against  the  discretion  of  Richelieu  ; 
and  says,  very  justly,  that  if  the  great  minister  had  the  frailties  of  human 
nature,  he  learnt  how  to  veil  them, — at  least  when  he  obtained  the  scarlet. 
In  earlier  life  he  had  been  prone  to  gallantries  which  a  little  prepossessed 
the  King  (who  was  formal  and  decorous,  and  threw  a  singular  coldness 
into  the  few  attachments  he  permitted  to  himself)  against  the  aspiring  in- 
triguer. But  these  gayer  occupations  died  away  in  the  engagement  of 
higher  pursuits  or  of  darker  passions. 

(4)  Richelieu  did  in  fact  so  thoroughly  associate  himself  with  the  State, 
that,  in  cases  where  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law  had  been  incurred,  Le 
Clerc  justly  observes  that  he  was  more  inexorable  to  those  he  had  favoured 
— even  to  his  own  connections — than  to  other  and  more  indifferent  offend- 
ers. It  must  be  remembered  as  some  excuse  for  his  unrelenting  sternness, 
that,  before  his  time,  the  great  had  been  accustomed  to  commit  any  dis- 
order with  impunity— even  the  crime  of  treason,  "  auparavant  on  ne  f'ais- 
oit  poser  les  armes  aux  rebelles  qu'en  leur  accordant  quelque  recompense." 
On  entering  into  the  administration,  he  therefore  laid  it  down  as  a  maxim 
necessary  to  the  existence  of  the  State,  that  "  no  crime  should  be  com- 
mitted with  impunity."  To  carry  out  this  maxim,  the  long  established  li- 
cense to  crime  made  even  justice  seem  cruel.  But  the  victims  most  com- 
miserated from  their  birth  or  accomplishments,  as  Montmorenci,  or  Cinq 
Mars  were  traitors  in  actual  conspiracy  against  their  country,  and  would 
have  forfeited  life  in  an}'  land  where  the  punishment  of  death  existed, 
and  the  lawgiver  was  strong  enough  to  vindicate  the  law.  Richelieu  was 
in  fact  a  patriot  unsoftened  by  philantrophy.  As  in  Venice  (where  the 
favourite  aphorism  was,  Venice  first,  Christianity  next,)  so,  with  Richelieu 
the  primary  consideration  was,  "  what  will  be  the  best  for  the  Country  ?" 
He  had  no  abstract  principle,  whether  as  a  politician  or  a  piiest,  when 
applied  to  the  world  that  lay  beyond  the  boundaries  of  France.  Thus  he, 
whose  object  was  to  found  in  France  a  splendid  and  imperious  despotism — 
assisted  the  Parliamentary  party  in  England,  and  signed  a  treaty  of  al- 
liance and  subsides  with  the  Catalan  rebels  for  the  establishment  of  a 
Republic  in  Barcelona  ; — to  convulse  other  Monarchies  was  to  consolidate 
the  giowing  Monarchy  of  France.  So  he,  who  completely  crushed  the 
Protestant  party  at  home,  braved  all  the  wrath  of  the  Vatican,  and  even 


RICHELIEU. 


93 


the  resentment  of  the  King,  in  giving  the  most  essential  aid  to  the  Pro- 
testants abroad.  There  was,  indeed,  a  largeness  of  view  in  his  hostility 
to  the  French  Huguenots,  which  must  be  carefully  distinguished  from  the 
intolerance  of  the  mere  priest.  He  opposed  them,  not  as  a  Catholic,  but  as 
a  Statesman.  The  Huguenots  were  strong  republicans,  and  had  formed 
plans  for  dividing  France  into  provincial  commonwealths  ;  and  the  exist- 
ence of  Rochelle  was  absolutely  incompatible  with  the  integrity  of  the 
French  Monarchy.  It  was  a  second  capital  held  by  the  Huguenots,  claim- 
ing independent  authority,  and  the  right  to  treat  with  Foreign  Powers. 
Richelieu's  final  conquest  was  marked  by  a  humanity,  that  had  nothing  of 
the  bigot.  The  Huguenots  obtained  a  complete  amnesty,  and  had  only  to 
regret  the  loss  of  privileges  and  fortifications  which  could  not  have  existed 
with  any  security  to  the  rest  of  France. 

(5)  The  guard  attached  to  Richelieu's  person  was,  in  the  first  instance, 
fifty  arquebussiers,  afterwards  increased  to  two  companies  of  cavalry  and 
two  hundred  musqueteers.  Huguet  is,  therefore,  to  be  considered  merely 
as  the  lieutenant  of  a  small  detachment  of  this  little  army.  In  point  oi 
fact  the  subdivisions  of  the  guard  took  it  in  turns  to  serve. 

(G)  This  tract,  on  the  "  Unity  of  the  Minister,"  contains  all  the  doc- 
trines, and  many  more  to  the  same  effect,  referred  to  in  the  text,  and  had  a 

Erodigious  influence  on  the  conscience  of  the  poor  king.  At  the  onset  of 
is  career,  Richelieu,  as  deputy  of  the  clergy  of  Poitou,  complained  in  his 
harangue  to  the  king  that  ecclesiastics  were  too  rarely  summoned  to  the 
royal  councils,  and  invoked  the  example  of  the  Druids  ! 

(7)  Joseph's  ambition  was  not,  however,  so  moderate  ;  he  refused  a 
bishopric,  and  desired  the  Cardinal's  Hat,  for  which  favour  Richelieu 
openly  supplicated  the  Holy  See,  but  contrived,  somehow  or  other,  never 
to  effect  it,  although  two  ambassadors  applied  for  it  at  Rome. 

(8)  The  peculiar  religion  of  Pere  Joseph  may  be  illustrated  by  the  fol- 
lowing anecdote  :— An  officer,  whom  he  had  dismissed  upon  an  expedition 
into  Germany,  moved  by  conscience  at  the  orders  he  had  received,  returned 
for  farther  explanations,  and  found  the  Capuchin  disant  sa  masse.  He  ap- 
proached and  whispered  "  But,  my  father,  if  these  people  defend  them- 
selves— "  "  Kill  all,"  (Qu'on  tue  tout,)  answered  the  good  father,  continu- 
ing his  devotion. 


NOTES  TO  ACT  III. 


(1)  I  need  not  say  that  the  great  length  of  this  soliloquy  adapts  it  only 
for  the  closet,  and  that  but  few  of  the  lines  are  preserved  on  the  stage.  To 
the  reader  however,  the  passages  omitted  in  representation  will  not,  per- 
haps, be  the  most  uninteresting  in  the  play,  and  may  be  deemed  necessary  to 
the  completion  of  the  Cardinal's  portrait, — action  on  the  stage  supplying 
so  subtly  the  place  of  words  in  the  closet.  The  self-assured  sophistries 
which,  in  the  text,  mingle  with  Richelieu's  better-founded  arguments  in 
pnpologv  for  the  darker  traits  of  his  character,  are  to  be  found  scattered 
tnrougnout  the  writings  ascribed  tc  him.  The  reader  will  observe  that  in 


94 


RICHELIEU. 


this  self-confession  lies  the  atent  poetical  justice, — which  separates  hap- 
piness from  success. 

[2]  It  is  well  known  that  when,  on  his  death-bed,  Richelieu  was  asked 
if  he  forgave  his  enemies,  he  replied,  "  I  never  had  any,  but  those  of  the 
state."  And  this  was  time  enough,  for  Richelieu  and  "the  state  were 
one. 

[3]  Richelieu's  vindication  of  himself  from  cruelty  will  be  found  in 
various  parts  of  Petitot's  Collection,  vols.  xxi.  xxx. 

[4]  Voltaire  has  a  striking  passage  on  the  singular  fate  of  Richelieu, 
recalled  every  hour  from  his  gigantic  schemes  to  frustrate  some  miserable 
cabal  of  the  ante-room.  Richelieu  would  often  exclaim,  that  "  Six  pieds 
de  terre  [as  he  called  the  king's  cabinet]  lui  donnaient  plus  de  peine  que 
tout  le  reste  de  FEurope."  The  death  of  Wallenstein,  sacrificed  by  the 
Emperor  Ferdinand,  produced  a  most  lively  impression  upon  Richelieu. 
He  found  many  traits  of  comparison  between  Ferdinand  and  Louis — Wal- 
lenstein and  himself.  In  the  Memoirs — now  regarded  by  the  best  authori- 
ties as  written  by  his  sanction,  and  in  great  part  by  himself — the  great 
Frenchman  bursts  [when  alluding  to  Wallenstein's  murder |  into  a  touch- 
ing and  pathetic  anathema  on  the  miscre  de  cette  vie  of  depei.dence  on  jea- 
lous and  timid  royalty,  which  he  himself,  while  he  wrote,  sustained.  It  i9 
worthy  of  remark,  that  it  was  precisely  at  the  period  of  Wallenstein's 
death  that  Richelieu  obtained  from  the  king  an  augmentation  of  his 
guard. 

[5]  Richelieu  was  commonly  supposed,  though  I  cannot  say  I  find  much 
evidence  for  it,  to  have  been  too  presuming  in  an  interview  with  Anne  of 
Austria  [the  Queen,]  and  to  have  bitterly  resented  the  contempt  she  ex- 
pressed for  him.  The  Duke  of  Buckingham's  frantic  and  Quixotic  passion 
lor  the  Queen  is  well  known. 

[6]  The  fear  and  the  hatred  which  Richelieu  generally  inspired  were  not 
shared  by  his  dependants  and  those  about  his  person,  who  are  said  "  to 
have  adored  him." — Ses  domestiques  le  regardaient  comme  le  meilleur  des 
maitres. — Le  Clerc.  In  fact  although  il  etoit  orgueilleuz  et  colere, — he  was 
en  meme  temps,  affable  et  plein  de  douceur  dans  Vabord  ;  and  he  was  no  less 
generous  to  those  who  served  than  severe  to  those  who  opposed  him. 

[7]  In  common  with  his  contemporaries,  Richelieu  was  credulous  in  as- 
trology's less  lawful  arts.  He  was  too  fortunate  a  man  not  to  be  supersti- 
tious. • 


NOTES  TO  ACT  TV. 
[1]  Omitted  in  representation  from  line  13  to  66. 

[2]  Louis  XIII.  is  said  to  have  possessed  some  natural  talents,  and  in 
earlier  youth  to  have  exhibited  the  germs  of  nobler  qualities  ;  but  a 
blight  seems  to  have  passed  over  his  maturer  life.  Personally  brave, 
but  morally  timid, — always  governed,  whether  by  his  mother  or  his  minis- 
ter, and  always  repining  at  the  yoke.  The  only  affection  amounting  to  a 
passion  that  he  betrayed  was  for  the  sports  of  the  field  ;  yet  it  was  his 
craving  weakness,  and  this  throws  a  kind  of  false  interest  over  his  char- 
acter, to  wish  to  be  loved.  He  himself  loved  no  one.  He  suffered  the  only 
woman  who  seems  to  have  been  attached  to  him  to  wither  in  a  convent — 
he  gave  up  favourite  after  favourite  to  exile  or  the  block.  When  Richelieu 
died,  he  said,  coldly,  "  Yoila  un  grand  politique  mort  !'•'  and  wheo  the  ill- 


RICHELIEU. 


fated  but  unprincipled  Cinq  Mars,  whom  he  called  le  cher  ami,  was  be- 
headed, he  drew  out  his  watch  at  the  fatal  hour,  and  said  with  a  smile,  "  1 
think  at  this  moment  that  le  cher  ami  fait  une  vilaine  mine."  Ncverthe- 
less  his  conscience  at  times  [for  he  was  devout  and  superstitious]  made 
him  gentle  ;  and  his  pride  and  his  honour  would  often,  when  least  expect- 
ed, rouse  him  into  haughty  but  brief  resistance  to  the  despotism  under 
which  he  lived. 

[3]  Louis  had  some  musical  taste  and  accomplishment,  wherewith  he 
often  communicated  to  his  favourites  some  of  that  wearisome  ennui  undei 
Which  he  himself  almost  unceasingly  languished. 

[4]  One  of  Louis's  most  bitter  complaints  against  Richelieu  was  the 
continued  banishment  of  the  Queen  Mother.  It  is  impossible,  however,  no\ 
to  be  convinced  that  the  return  of  that  worthless  intriguante  was  wholly 
incompatible  with  the  tranquility  of  the  kingdom.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  poverty  and  privation  which  she  endured  in  exile  are  discreditable  to 
the  generosity  and  the  gratitude  of  Richelieu — she  was  his  first  patron, 
though  afterwards  his  most  powerful  persecutor. 

[5]  In  his  Memoirs  Richelieu  gives  an  amusing  account  of  the  insolence 
and  arts  of  Baradas,  and  observes  with  indignant  astonishment,  that  the 
favourite  was  never  weary  of  repeating  to  the  King  that  he  [Baradas] 
would  have  made  just  as  great  a  minister  as  Richelieu.  It  is  on  the  at- 
tachment of  Baradas  to  La  Cressias,  a  maid  of  honour  to  the  Queen  Mother 
of  whom,  according  to  Baradas,  the  King  was  enamoured  also,  that  his 
love  for  the  Julie  de  Mortemar  of  the  play  has  been  founded.  The  secret  of 
Baradas's  sudden  and  extraordinary  influence  with  the  King  seems  to  rest 
in  the  personal  adoration  which  he  professed  for  Louis,  with  whom  he 
affected  all  the  jealousy  of  a  lover,  but  whom  he  flattered  with  the  ardent 
chivalry  of  a  knight.  Even  after  his  disgrace  he  placed  upon  his  banner, 
"  Fiat  voluntas  tua." 

[6]  Louis  was  called  The  Just,  but  for  no  other  reason  than  that  he  was 
born  under  the  Libra. 

[7]  Louis  XIII,  did  not  resemble  either  his  father  or  his  son  in  the  ar- 
dour of  his  attachments  ;  if  not  wholly  platonic,  they  were  wholly  unim- 
passioned  ;  yet  no  man  was  more  jealous,  or  more  unscrupulously  tyranni- 
cal when  the  jealousy  was  aroused. 

[8]  One  of  Richelieu's  severest  and  least  politic  laws  was  that  which 
made  duelling  a  capital  crime.  Never  was  the  punishment  against  the 
offence  more  relentlessly  enforced  ;  and  never  were  duels  so  desperate  and 
so  numerous.  The  punishment  of  death  must  be  evidently  ineffectual  so 
long  as  to  refuse  a  duel  is  to  be  dishonoured,  and  so  long  as  men  hold  the 
doctrine,  however  wrong,  that  it  is  better  to  part  with  the  life  that  Heaven 
gave  than  the  honour  man  makes.  In  fact,  the  greater  the  danger  he  in- 
curred, the  greater  was  the  punctilio  of  the  cavalier  of  the  time  in  brav- 
ing it. 

[9]  For  the  haughty  and  rebuking  tone  which  Richelieu  assumed  in  his 
postulations  with  the  King,  see  his  Memoirs  [passim]  in  [Petitot's  collec- 
tion, vols.  22 — 30  Ibis.}  Montesquieu,  in  one  of  his  brilliant  antitheses  says 
well  of  Richelieu,  II  avila  leroi,  mais  il  illustrata  le  regne." 

[10]  However  "  orgueilleux  and  colere'1  in  his  disputes  with  Louis,  the 
Cardinal  did  not  always  disdain  recourse  to  the  arts  of  the  courtier  ; — once 
after  an  angry  discussion  with  the  king,  in  which,  as  usual,  Richelieu  gofc 
the  better,  Louis,  as  they  quitted  the  palace  together,  said  rudely,  "  Sortez 
le  premier  ;  vous  etes  bien  le  roi  de  France."  "  Si  je  passe  le  premier," 
replied  the  minister,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  with  great  adroitness 
"  ce  ne  peut  etre  que  comme  le  plus  humble  de  vos  serviteurs  ;"  and  he 
took  a  flambeau  from  one  of  the  pages,  to  light  the  king  as  he  walked  be- 
fore him — "  en  reculant  et  sans  tournes  le  dos." 


96 


RIOHELIEf!. 


[11]  Selon  Pasage  de  Louis  XIII.,  faire  arreter  quelqu'un  pour  crime 

d'etat,  et  le  faire  mourir,  l'^tait,  a  peu  pres  le  meme  chose. — Le  Clerc. 

[12]  Like  Cromwell  and  Rienzi,  Richelieu  appears  to  have  been  easily 
moved  to  tears.  The  Queen  Mother,  who  put  the  hardest  interpretation  on 
that  humane  weakness,  which  is  natural  with  very  excitable  temperaments 
said  that  "  II  pleurait  quand  il  voulait."  I  may  add  to  those  who  may  be 
inclined  to  imagine  that  Richelieu  appears  in  parts  of  this  scene  too  de- 

{'ected  for  consistency  wi  h  so  imperious  a  character,  that  it  is  recorded  of 
rim  that  "  quand  ses  affaires  ne  eruississoient  pas,  il  se  trouvoit  abattu  et 
epouvante,  et  quand  il  obtenoit  ce  qu'il  souhaitoit,  il  etoit  fier  et  insultant.'; 


NOTES  TO  ACT  V. 

[1]  See  in  "  Cinq  Mars,"  vol.  v.  the  striking  and  brilliant  chapter  from 
which  the  interlude  of  the  Secretaries  is  borrowed. 

[T\  The  passion  of  the  drama  requires  this  catastrophe  for  Baradas.  He 
however,  survived  his  disgrace,  though  stripped  of  all  his  rapidly-acquired 
fortunes — and  the  daring  that  belonged  to  his  character  won  him  distinc- 
tion in  foreign  service.  He  returned  to  France  after  Richelieu's  death,  but 
never  regained  the  same  court  influence.  He  had  taken  the  vows  of  a 
knight,  of  Malta,  and  Louis  made  him  a  Prior. 

[3]  The  sudden  resuscitation  of  Richelieu  [not  to  strain  too  much  on  the 
real  passion  which  supports  him  in  this  scene]  is  in  conformance  with  the 
more  dissimulating  part  of  his  character.  The  extraordinary  mobility  of 
his  countenance  [latterly  so  deathlike,  save  when  the  mind  spoke  in  the 
features]  always  lent  itself  to  stage  effect  of  this  nature.  The  queen 
mother  said  of  him,  that  she  had  seen  him  one  moment  so  feeble,  cast 
down,  and  "  semi-mort,"  that  he  seemed  on  the  point  of  giving  up  the 
ghost — and  the  next  moment  he  would  start  up  full  of  animation,  energy 
and  life. 

[4]  The  image  and  the  sentiment  in  the  concluding  lines  are  borrowed 
from  a  passage  in  one  of  the  writings  attributed  to  the  Cardinal. 


No.  XV. 

FRENCH'S  STANDARD 


DRAMA. 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 

IN    FIVE  ACTS. 

BV  JAMES  SHERIDAN  KNOWLES. 

WITH  THE  AUTHOR'S  LATEST  CORRECTIONS, 

ALL  THE  STAGE  BUSINESS,  CAST  OF  CHARACTERS,  COS- 
TUMES, RELATIVE  POSITIONS,  &c. 

'AS  PERFORMED  BY  MR.  KNOWLES,  MR.  AND  MISS  KEMBLE, 
MR.  AND  MRS.  CHARLES  KEAN- 

THE    ONLY    UN  MUTILATED  EDITION. 

With  the  Stago  Omissions  carefully  marked  with  inverted  eon 


NEW-YORK : 
SAMUEL  FRENCH, 

121  NASSAU-ST1SEET. 

PRICE,  m  CENTS. 


CAJsT    OF  CHARACTERS 


Covent  Garden,  1832.       Park,  1845.  Chesnul  St.  1831 

Matter  Walter  Mr.  J.  S.  Knowlcs.  Mr.  Bass.  Mr.  May  wood. 

Sir  Thomas  Clifford .    "  C.  Kenible.         "  Chas.  Kean.  «  Chas.  Kemble 

Lord  Tinsel   "   Wrench.  *   De  Waldcn.  "  Mnrdock. 

Modus   "  Abbott.  '«  G.  Barrett  "  Rovvbotham. 

Fathom   "   Meadows.  M   Fisher.  "  Watson. 

Matter  Wilford   "  J.  Masoa  "  Crocker.  «  J.  G.  Porter. 

Master  Heartwell   "  Evans.  "   Anderson.  "  Walstein. 

Qaylove   *'  Henry.  "   Pearson.  «•  Darley. 

Thomas    "  Barnes.  "  Povey.  "  Kent." 

Slei/hen    u    Payne.  "   M'Douall.  «  Jcrvis. 

Simpson   "  Brady.  "  Bulard.  "  Broad. 

Williams    "  Irwin.  "  Gourlay.  "  Eberle. 

Holdwell    41  Bender.  "  Gallolt.  «  Craddock. 

Servant   "  Cooper.  "  King.  «  Brittingham. 

Julia   Miss  F.  Keniblc.  Mrs.  Chas.  Kean  Miss  Fanny  Kemblo. 

Helen  Miss  Taylor.  Mrs.  Abbott.  Mr.*'.  Itowholhain. 


COSTUMES. 

MASTER  WALTER.— Black  Old-English  doublet,  puffed  with  red 
silk  or  black  satin,  black  mantle,  black  cap  and  plume,  sword  aud 
cane. 

SIR  THOMAS  CLIFFORD. — Dark  coloured  doublet  richly  slashed 
with  crimson,  dark  mantle,  trunks  trimmed  with  lace,  russet  boots, 
buff  hat  and  white  feathers,  raff,  and  sword  with  handsome  scabbard. 

LORD  TINSEL. — Blue  and  silver  jacket  and  pantaloons,  trimmed 
with  silk  cord,  plated  buttons,  fancy  coloured  vest,  hat  and  feathers, 
mlk  stockings  with  gold  clocks. 

MODUS. — Brown  Old-English  dress  trimmed  with  blue,  hat  and  fea- 
thers. 

FATHOM. — Old-English  livery. 

MASTER  WILFORD. — First  dress :  Old-English  doublet  and  mantle, 
slightly  ornamented. — Second  dress  :  Rich  nobleman's  suit, — fancy 
coloured  jacket  and  pantaloons  trimmed  with  lace, — trunks,  belt, 
and  mantle  trimmed, — russet  boots,  and  rich  cap  and  feathers. 

JfTLIA. — First  dress:  White  muslin,  trimmed  with  face. — Second 
dress  :  White  satin  gown,  with  silk  spencer  or  boddice  according  ta 
taste,  hat  and  ostrich  feathers. — Third  dress  :  White  satin  robe  and 
demi-train,  trimmed  with  lace,  white  satin  shoes. 

HELEN. — First  dress  :  White  muslin  trimmed  with  pink  or  blue  silk, 
and  girdle  of  the  same. — second  dress  of  satin. 

EXITS  AND  ENTRANCES. 
R.  means  Right ;    L.  Left:   R.  D.  Right  Door;  L.  D.  Left  Door? 
8.  E.  Second  Entrance ;  U.  E.  Upper  Entrance;  M.  D.  Middle  Doo? 

RELATIVE  POSITIONS. 
R.,  mean*  Right;  L.,Left;  C,  Centre;  R.  C,  Right  of  Centre, 
L  C,  Left  of  Centre. 

XiJS.  Passages  marked  with  Inverted  Commas,  arc  usually  omitted  in  t!u 
representation. 


THE  HUNCHBACK 


ACT    I . 

Scene  L — A  Tavern.  On  one  side,  Sir  Thomas  Clifford 
at  a  table  with  wine  before  him  ;  on  the  other,  Master 
Wilford,  Gaylove,  Holdwell,  and  Simpson,  likewise 
taking  wine. 

Wilf.  Your  wine,  Sirs ;  your  wine ;  you  do  not  justice 
to  mine  host  of  the  Three  Tuns,  nor  credit  to  yourselves. 
I  swear  the  beverage  is  good  !  It  is  as  palatable  poison 
as  you  will  purchase  within  a  mile  round  Ludgate  !  Drink, 
gentlemen  ;  make  free.  You  know  I  am  a  man  of  expec- 
tations ;  and  hold  my  money  as  light  as  the  purse  in  which 
I  carry  it. 

Gay.  We  drink,  Master  Wilford ;  not  a  man  of  us  has 
been  chased  as  yet. 

Wilf.  But  you  fill  not  fairly,  Sirs !  Look  at  my  mea- 
sure !  Wherefore  a  large  glass,  if  not  for  a  large  draught  ] 
Fill,  I  pray  you,  else  let  us  drink  out  of  thimbles.  This 
will  never  do  for  the  friends  of  the  nearest  of  kin  to  the 
wealthiest  peer  in  Britain. 

Gay.  We  give  you  joy,  Master  Wilford,  of  the  prospect 
of  advancement  which  has  so  unexpectedly  opened  to  you.. 

Wilf.  Unexpectedly  indeed !  But  yesterday  arrived 
the  news  that  the  Earl's  only  son  and  heir  had  died  ;  and 
to-day  has  the  earl  himself  been  seized  with  a  mortal  illness. 
His  dissolution  is  looked  for  hourly  :  and  I,  his  cousin  in 
only  the  third  degree,  known  to  him  but  to  be  unnoticed 
by  him — a  decayed  gentleman's  son — glad  of  the  title  and 
revenues  of  a  sciivener's  clerk, — am  the  undoubted  succes- 
gor  to  his  estates  and  coronet. 


10 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  I 


Gay.  Have  you  been  sent  for  ] 

WUf.  No  ;  but  I  have  certified  to  his  agent,  Master 
Walter,  the  Hunchback,  my  existence  and  peculiar  propin- 
quity ;  and  momentarily  expect  him  here. 

"  Gay.  Lives  there  any  one  that  may  dispute  your  claim, 
" — I  mean  vexatiously  % 

"  Wilf.  Not  a  man,  Master  Gaylove.  I  am  the  sole  re- 
"  maining  branch  of  the  family  tree." 

Gay.  Doubtless  you  look  for  much  happiness  from  this 
change  of  fortune  ] 

Wilf.  A  world  !  Three  things  have  I  an  especial  pas- 
sion for  :  the  finest  hound,  the  finest  horse,  and  the  finest 
wife  in  the  kingdom,  Master  Gaylove. 

Gay.  The  finest  wife  ! 

Wilf.  Yes,  Sir;  I  marry.  Once  the  Earldom  comes 
into  my  line,  I  shall  take  measures  to  perpetuate  its  re- 
maining there.  I  marry,  Sir !  I  do  not  say  that  I  shall 
love.  My  heart  has  changed  mistresses  too  often  to  settle 
down  in  one  servitude  now,  Sir.  But  fill,  I  pray  you, 
friends.  This,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  the  day  whence  I  shall 
date  my  new  fortunes  ;  "  and,  for  that  reason,  hither  have 
"  I  invited  you,  that  having  been  so  long  my  boon  compa- 
"  nions,  you  should  be  the  first  to  congratulate  me." 

Enter  Waiter,  l. 

Wait.  You  are  wanted,  Master  Wilford. 

WUf.  By  whom  % 

Wait.  One  Master  Walter. 

Wilf.  His  Lordship's  agent !  News,  Sirs  !  Show  him  in. 

[Rises.  Exit  Waiter,  l. 
My  heart's  a  prophet,  Sirs. — The  Earl  is  dead. 

Enter  Master  Walter,  l. 

Well,  Master  Walter  ;  how  accost  you  me  ] 

[All  come  forward,  R. 

Walt.  As  your  impatience  shows  me  you  would  have 
My  lord,  the  Earl  of  Rochdale  !  [me  : 

Gay.  Give  you  joy  ! 

Hold.  All  happiness,  my  lord  ! 

Simp.  Long  life  and  health  unto  your  lordship  ! 

"  Gay.  Come  ! 
n  We'll  drink  to  his  lordship's  health !    'Tis  two  o'clock, 
*  We'll  e'en  carouse  till  midnight !    Health,  my  lord  !" 


Scene  I.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


II 


Hold.    My  lord,  much  joy  to  you  !    Huzza  ! 

[All  go  to  the  table,  Jill  and  drink. 

"Simp.  Huzza!" 

Walt.  Give  something  to  the  dead  ! 

Gay.  Give  what  % 

Walt.  Respect! 
He  has  made  the  living  !    First  to  him  that's  gone, 
Say  "  Peace," — and  then  with  decency  to  revels. 

Gay  What  means  the  knave  by  revels  1 

[Advances  towards  Walter 

Walk  Knave  ! 
Gay.  Ay,  Knave  ! 

Walt.  Go  to  !    Thou'rt  flushed  with  wine. 

Gay.  Thou  sayest  false  ! 
Tho'  didst  thou  need  a  proof  thou  speakest  true, 
I'd  give  thee  one.    Thou  seest  but  one  lord  here, 
And  I  see  two  ! 

Walt.  Renect'st  thou  on  my  shape  ] 
Thou  art  a  villain  ' 

Gay.  Ha  ! 

Walt.  A  coward,  too !  [  Walks  from  him,  h. 

Draw  !   [Drawing  his  sword.] 

Gay.  Only  mark  him,  how  he  struts  about ! 
How  laughs  his  straight  sword  at  his  noble  back. 

Walt.  Does  it  %    It  cuff's  thee  for  a  liar,  then  ! 

[Strikes  him  with  his  sword. 

Gay.  A  blow ! 

Walt.  Another,  lest  you  doubt  the  first ! 

Gay.  His  blood  on  his  own  head  !    I'm  for  you,  Sir  ! 

[Draws. 

Clif.  Hold,  Sir !    This  quarrel's  mine  ! 

[Coming  forward  n.  of  Walter,  and  drazving, 

Walt.  No  man  shall  fight  for  me,  Sir  ! 

Clif.  By  your  leave  ! — 
Your  patience,  pray  !    My  lord — for  so  I  learn 
Behoves  me  to  accost  you — for  your  own  sake 
Draw  off*  your  friend  ! 

Walt.  Not  till  we  have  a  bout,  Sir  ! 

"  Clif  My  lord,  your  happy  fortune  ill  you  greet— 
M  111  greet  it  those  who  love  you — greeting  thus 
M  The  herald  of  it ! 

"  Walt.  Sir,  what's  that  to  you  1 
**  Let  go  my  sleeve  ! 


12 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  I 


"  CI  if.  My  lord,  if  blood  be  shed 
u  On  the  fair  dawn  of  your  prosperity, 
"  Look  not  to  see  the  brightness  of  its  day. 
"  'Twill  be  o'ercast  throughout !" 

Gay.  My  lord,  I'm  struck  ! 

Clzf.  You  gave  the  first  blow,  and  the  hardest  one  ! 
Look,  Sir :  if  swords  you  needs  must  measure,  I'm 
Your  mate,  not  he. 

Walt.  I'm  mate  for  any  man. 

"  CI  if.  Draw  off  your  friend,  my  lord,  for  your  owl 

sake!" 

Wilf.  Come,  Gaylove  !  let  us  have  another  room. 
Gay.  With  all  my  heart,  since  :tis  your  lordship's  will, 
Wilf.  That's  right!    Put  up  !    Come,  friends! 

[Exeunt  Wilfurd  and  friends,  r. 

Walt.  I'll  follow  him  ! 
Why  do  you  hold  mel    'Tis  not  courteous  of  you  ! 
"  Think'st  thou  I  fear  them  ?    Fear  !    I  rate  them  but 
"  As  dust  !  dross  !  offals  !    Let  me  at  them  ! — Nay, 
"  Call  you  this  kind  ]  then  kindness  know  I  not;" 
Nor  do  I  thank  you  for't  !    Let  go,  I  say ! 

CI  if.  Nay,  Master  Walter,  they're  not  worth  your  wrath. 

Walt.  How  know  you  me  for  Master  Walter  ]  By 
My  hunchback,  Eh  ? — "  my  stilts  of  legs  and  arms, 
"  The  fashion  more  of  ape's,  than  man's  1  Aha! 
"  So  you  have  heard  them,  too — their  savage  gibes 
"  As  I  pass  on, — '  There  goes  my  lord  !'  aha  !" 
God  made  me,  Sir,  as  well  as  them  and  you. 
Sdeath!    I  demand  of  you,  unhand  me,  sir. 

[Disengaging  himself 

Clif.  There,  Sir,  you're  free  to  follow  them  !    Go  forth, 
And  I'll  go,  too  :  so  on  your  wilfulness 
Shall  fall  whate'er  of  evil  may  ensue. 
Is't  fit  to  waste  your  choler  on  a  burr  ] 
"  The  nothings  of  the  town  1  whose  sport  it  is 
"  To  break  their  villain  jests  on  worthy  men, 
"  The  graver,  still  the  fitter  !    Fie,  for  shame  !" 
Regard  what  such  would  say  ]    So  would  not  I, 
No  more  than  heed  a  cur. 

Walt.  You're  right,  Sir  ;  right, 
For  twenty  crowns  !    So  there's  my  rapier  up  ! 
You've  done  me  a  good  turn  against  my  will  • 


Scene  I .] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


13 


Which,  like  a  wayward  child,  whose  pet  is  off, 
That  made  him  restive  under  wholesome  check, 
I  now  right  humbly  own,  and  thank  you  for. 

Clif.  No  thanks,  good  Master  Walter,  owe  you  me ! 
I'm  glad  to  know  you,  Sir. 

Walt.  I  pray  you,  now, 
How  did  you  learn  my  name  1    Guessed  I  not  right  ? 
Was't  not  my  comely  hunch  that  taught  it  you  % 

Clif.  I  own  it. 

Walt.  Right,  I  know  it ;  you  tell  truth. 
[  like  you  for't. 

Clif.  But  when  I  heard  it  said 
That  Master  Walter  was  a  worthy  man, 
Whose  word  would  pass  on  'change,  soon  as  his  bo?\d ; 
A.  liberal  man — for  schemes  of  public  good 
That  sets  down  tens,  where  others  units  write  ; 
A  charitable  man — the  good  he  does, 
That's  told  of,  not  the  half — I  never  more 
Could  see  the  hunch  on  Master  Walter's  bacl  . 

Walt.  You  would  not  flatter  a  poor  citizei  ? 

Clif.  Indeed,  I  flatter  not ! 

Walt.  I  like  your  face  : 
A  frank  and  honest  one  !    Your  frame's  well  knit, 
Proportioned,  shaped  ! 

Clif.  Good,  Sir ! 

Walt.  Your  name  is. Clifford — 
Sir  Thomas  Clifford.    Humph  i    You're  not  die  heir 
Direct,  to  the  fair  baronetcy  ]  He 
That  was,  was  drowned  abroad.    Am  I  not  right  1 
Your  cousin,  was't  not  %    So  succeeded  you 
To  rank  and  wealth,  your  birth  ne'er  promised  you. 

Clif.  I  see  you  know  my  history. 

Walt.  I  do. 
You're  lucky  who  conjoin  the  benefits 
Of  penury  an  1  abundance;  for  I  know 
Your  father  was  a  man  of  slender  means. 
You  do  not  blush,  I  see.    That's  right!    Why  should 
you  ] 

What  merit  to  be  dropped  on  fortune's  hill  ] 
The  honour  is  to  mount  it.    You'd  have  done  it ; 
For,  you  were  trained  to  knowledge,  industry. 
Frugality  and  honesty, — the  sinews 


14  THE  HUNCHBACK.  £Ac: 

That  surest  help  the  climber  to  the  top, 
And  keep  him  there,    I  have  a  clerk,  Sir  Thoma3, 
Once  served  your  father,  there's  the  riddle  for  y>a. 
Humph  !    I  may  thank  you  for  my  life  to-day, 

Clif.  I  pray  you,  say  not  so  ! 

Walt.  But  I  will  say  so ! 
Because  I  think  so,  know  so,  feel  so.  Sir ! 
Your  fortune,  I  have  heard,  I  think,  is  ample ; 
And  doubtless  you  live  up  to't  1 

Clif.  'Twas  my  rule, 
And  is  so  still,  to  keep  my  outlay,  Sir, 
A  span  within  my  means. 

"  Walt.  A  prudent  rule. 
"  The  turf  is  a  seductive  pastime  ! 

"  Clif.  Yes. 

"  Walt.  You  keep  a  racing  stud  1    You  bet  1 

"  Clif.  No,  neither. 
"  'Twas  still  my  father's  precept — '  Better  owe 
"  A  yard  of  land  to  labour,  than  to  chance 
"  Be  debtor  for  a  rood  !' 

Walt.  "  'Twas  a  wise  precept." 
You've  a  fair  house — you'll  get  a  mistress  for  it  ? 

Clif.  In  time. 

Walt.  In  time  !    'Tis  time  thy  choice  were  made* 
Is't  not  so  yet  %    Or  is  thy  lady-love. 
The  newest  still  thou  see'st  1 

Clif.  Nay,  not  so. 
I'd  marry,  Master  Walter,  but  old  use — 
For,  since  the  age  of  thirteen,  I  have  lived 
In  the  world, — has  made  me  jealous  of  the  thing 
That  flattered  me  with  hope  of  profit.  Bargains 
Another  would  snap  up,  might  lie  for  me 
Till  I  had  turned,  and  turned  them  !  Speculations, 
That  promised  twenty,  thirty,  forty,  fifty, 
Ay,  cent,  per  cent,  returns,  I  would  not  launch  in 
VVhen  others  were  afloat,  and  out  at  sea  ! 
Whereby  I  made  small  gains,  but  missed  great  losses  ! 
As  ever  then  I  looked  before  I  leaped, 
8o  do  I  now. 

Wal.  Thou'rt  all  the  better  for't ! 
Let's  see  !    Hand  free — heart  whole — well  favoured — 
Rick, —  titled  !    Let  that  pass  ! — kind,  valiant,  prudent- 


Sctwb  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


16 


Sir  Thomas,  I  can  help  thee  to  a  wife, 
Hast  thou  the  luck  to  win  her  ! 

Clif  Master  Walter  ! 
You  jest ! 

Wal.  I  do  not  jest. — I  like  you  !  mark — 
I  like  you,  and  I  like  not  every  one ! 
I  say  a  wife,  Sir,  can  I  help  you  to, 
The  pearly  texture  of  whose  dainty  skin 
Alone  were  worth  thy  baronetcy  !  Form 
And  feature  has  she,  wherein  move  and  glow 
The  charms,  that  in  the  marble  cold  and  still 
Culled  by  the  sculptor's  jealous  skill,  and  joined  there. 
Inspire  us  !    Sir,  a  maid,  before  whose  feet 
A  duke — a  duke  might  lay  his  coronet, 
To  lift  her  to  his  state  and  partner  her  ! 
A  fresh  heart,  too  !    A  young  fresh  heart,  Sir,  one 
That  Cupid  has  not  toyed  with,  and  a  warm  one. 
Fresh,  young,  and  warm  !  mark  that !  a  mind  to  boot. 
Wit,  Sir :  sense,  taste  ;  a  garden  strictly  tended — 
Where  naught  but  what  is  costly  nourishes. 
A  consort  for  a  king,  Sir  !     Thou  shalt  see  her. 

Clif.  I  thank  you,  Master  Walter  !    As  you  speak, 
Methinks  I  see  me  at  the  altar  foot, 
"  Her  hand  fast  locked  in  mine — the  ring  put  on." 
My  wedding  bell  rings  merry  in  my  ear ; 
And  round  me  throng  glad  tongues  that  give  me  joy 
To  be  the  bridegroom  of  so  fair  a  bride  ! 

Wal.  What !  sparks  so  thick  1  We'll  have  a  blaze  anon  ! 

Enter  Servant,  l. 

Serv.  The  chariot's  at  the  dooT\ 

Wal.  It  waits  in  time  ! 
Sir  Thomas,  it  shall  bear  thee  to  the  bower 
Where  dwells  this  fair,  for  she's  no  city  belle, 
Hut  e'en  a  Sylvan  Goddess. 

Clif.  Have  with  you. 

Wal.  You  '11  bless  the  day  you  served  the  Hunchback, 
Sir.  [Exeunt,  l. 

Scene  II. — A  Garden  before  a  Country  House. 
Enter  Juli.4  and  Helen,  r.  u. 

Hel.  (r.)  I  like  not,  Ju*ia,  this,  your  country  life. 
I'm  weary  on't. 


16 


HE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Acrf. 


Jul.  (l.)  Indeed  1    So  am  not  I ! 
I  know  no  other  ;  would  no  other  know. 

Ild.  You  would  no  other  know  !    Would  you  not  know 
Another  relative  1 — another  friend — 
Another  house — another  anything, 
Because  the  ones  you  have  already  please  you  1 
That's  poor  content !    "  Would  you  not  be  more  rich. 
"  More  wise,  more  fair]1'    The  song  that  last  you  lea*  ^.M 
You  fancy  well ;    and  therefore  shall  you  learn 
No  other  song  1    Your  virginal,  'tis  true, 
Hath  a  sweet  tone  ;  but  does  it  follow  thence, 
You  shall  not  have  another  virginal  ] 
You  may,  love,  and  a  sweeter  one  ;  and  so 
A  sweeter  life  may  find,  than  this  you  lead  ! 

Jul.  I  seek  it  not.    Helen,  I'm  constancy  ! 

Hel.  So  is  a  cat,  a  dog,  a  silly  hen, 
An  owl,  a  bat, — where  they  are  wont  to  lodge 
That  still  sojourn,  nor  care  to  shift  their  quarters. 
^Thou'rt  constancy  ]    I'm  glad  I  know  thy  name  ! 
The  spider  comes  of  the  same  family, 
That  in  his  meshy  fortress  spends  his  life, 
Unless  you  pull  it  down,  and  scare  him  from  it. 
u  And  so,  thou'rt  constancy  1    Art  proud  of  that  1 
"  I'll  warrant  thee  I'll  match  thee  with  a  snail, 
"  From  year  to  year  that  never  leaves  his  house  ! 
u  Such  constancy,  forsooth  ! — A  constant  grub 
"  That  houses  ever  in  the  self-same  nut 
"  Where  he  was  born,  'till  hunger  drives  him  out, 
"Or  plunder  breaketh  thro'  his  castle  wall  !" 
And  so,  in  very  deed,  thou'rt  constancy! 

Jul.  Helen,  you  know  the  adage  of  the  tree; — 
I've  ta'en  the  bend.    This  rural  life  of  mine, 
Enjoined  me  by  an  unknown  father's  will, 
I've  led  from  infancy.    Debarred  from  hope 
Of  change,  I  ne'er  have  sighed  for  chancre.    The  towfl 
To  me  was  like  the  moon,  for  any  thought 
I  e'er  should  visit  it — nor  was  I  schooled 
To  think  it  half  so  fair  ! 

Hel.  Not  half  so  fair  ! 
The  town's  the  sun,  and  thou  hast  dwelt  in  night 
E'er  since  thy  birth,  not  to  have  seen  the  town  ! 
Their  women  there  are  queens,  and  kings  their  men ; 
Their  houses  palaces  !  [  Crosses,  L 


Sctws  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


17 


Jul.  And  what  of  that  1 
Have  your  town  palaces  a  hall  like  this  1 
Couches  so  fragrant  %  walls  so  high  adorned  ? 
Casements  with  such  festoons,  such  prospects,  Helen, 
As  these  fair  vistas  have  1    Your  kings  and  queens! 
See  me  a  May-day  queen,  and  talk  of  them  ! 

IIcl.  Extremes  are  ever  neighbors.    'Tis  a  step 
From  one  to  the  other  !     Were  thy  constancy 
A  reasonable  thing — a  little  less 
Of  constancy — a  woman's  constancy — 
I  should  not  wonder  wert  thou  ten,  years  hence 
The  maid  I  know  thee  now;  but,  as  it  is, 
The  odds  are  ten  to  one,  that  this  day  year 
Will  see  our  May-day  queen  a  city  one. 

Jul.  Never!     I'm  wedded  to  a  country  life. 
O,  did  you  hear  what  Master  Walter  says  ! 
N'ine  times  in  ten,  the  town's  a  hollow  thing, 
Where  what  things  are,  is  naught  to  what  they  show  j 
Where  merit's  name  laughs  merit's  self  to  scorn ! 
Where  friendship  and  esteem,  that  ought  to  be  4 
The  tenants  of  men's  hearts,  lodoje  in  their  looks 
And  tongues  alone.    Where  little  virtue,  with 
A  costly  keeper,  passes  for  a  heap  ; 
A  heap  for  none,  that  has  a  homely  one  ! 
Where  fashion  makes  the  law — your  umpire  which 
You  bow  to,  whether  it  has  brains  or  not. 
Where  Folly  taketh  off  his  cap  and  bells, 
To  clap  on  Wisdom,  which  must  bear  the  jest  ! 
Where,  to  pass  current,  you  must  seem  the  thing, 
The  passive  thing  that  others  think,  and  not 
Your  simple,  honest,  independent  self!  [Crosses  f  L, 

Hcl.  Ay  :  so  says  Master  Walter.    See  I  not 
What  you  can  find  in  Master  Walter,  Julia, 
To  be  so  fond  of  him  ! 

Jul.  He's  fond  of  me. 
F've  known  him  since  I  was  a  child.    E'en  then 
The  week  I  thought  a  weary,  heavy  one, 
That  brought  not  Master  Walter.    I  had  those 
About  me  then  that  made  a  fool  of  me, 
As  children  oft  are  fooled  ;  but  more  I  loved 
Good  Master  Walter's  lesson,  than  the  play 
With  which  they'd  surfeit  me.    As  I  grew  up, 


18 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


f  Act  * 


More  frequent  Master  Walter  came,  and  more 

I  loved  to  see  him.    I  had  tutors  then, 

Men  of  grent  skill  and  learning — but  not  one  - 

That  taught  like  Master  Walter.    What  they'd  show  me, 

And  I,  dull  as  I  was,  but  doubtful  saw, — 

A  v.  rd  from  Master  Walter  made  as  clear 

As  day-light !    When  my  schooling  days  were  o'er — 

That's  now  good  three  years  past — three  years — I  vow 

I'm  twenty,  Helen  ! — well,  as  I  was  saying, 

When  I  had  done  with  school,  and  all  were  gone, 

Still  Master  Walter  came  ;  and  still  he  comes, 

Summer  or  winter — frost  or  rain.    I've  seen 

The  snow  upon  a  level  with  the  hedge, 

Yet  there  was  Master  Walter ! 

Hel.  Who  comes  here  1  [Crosses,  L 

A  carriage,  and  a  gay  one, — who  alightc  ? 
Pshaw  !    Only  Master  Walter  !    What  see  you, 
Which  thus  repairs  the  arch  of  the  fair  brow, 
_A  frown  was  like  to  spoil  ] — A  gentleman  ! 
^&ne  of  our  town  kings  !    Mark — how  say  you  now  1 
Would'st  be  a  town  queen,  Julia  1    Which  of  us, 
I  wonder,  comes  he  for  1 

Jul.  For  neither  of  us  ; 
He's  Master  Walter's  clerk,  most  like. 

Hel.  Most  like  ! 
Mark  him  as  he  comes  up  the  avenue ; 
So  looks  a  clerk  !    A  clerk  has  such  a  gait ! 
So  does  a  clerk  dress,  Julia, — mind  his  hose — 
They're  very  like  a  clerk's  !  a  diamond  loop 
And  button,  note  you,  for  his  clerkship's  hat — 
O,  certai  ly  a  clerk  !    "  A  velvet  cloak, 
"  Jerkin  of  silk,  and  doublet  of  the  same, — " 
For  all  the  world  a  clerk  !    See,  Julia,  see, 
How  Master  Walter  bows,  and  yields  him  place, 
That  he  may  first  go  in, — a  very  clerk  ! 
I'll  learn  of  thee,  love,  when  I'd  know  a  clerk ! 

Jill.  I  wonder  who  he  is. 

Hel.  Would'st  like  to  know  1 
Would'st,  for  a  fancy,  ride  to  town  with  him  ? 
I  prophesy  he  comes  to  take  thee'  thither. 

Jul.  He  ne'er  takes  me  to  town.    No,  Helen,  no, 
To  town  who  will — a  country  life  for  me  I 

Hel.  We'll  see. 


SCEKK  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


19 


Enter  Fathom,  l. 

Fath.  You're  wanted,  Madam. 
Jul.  [Embarrassed.]  Which  of  us] 

Fath.  You,  madam.  [  Goes  up,  L. 

Hcl.  Julia !  what's  the  matter  ]  Nay, 
Mount  not  the  rose  so  soon.    He  must  not  see  it 
A  month  hence.  'Tis  love's  flower,  which,  once  she  wears, 
The  maid  is  all  his  own. 

Jul.  Go  to  ! 

Hcl.  Be  sure  [Crosses,**. 
He  comes  to  woo  thee  !    He  will  bear  thee  hence  ; 
He'll  make  thee  change  the  country  for  the  town. 

Jul.  I'm  constancy.    Name  he  the  town  to  me, 
I'll  tell  him  what  I  think  on't !  [Crosses,  l 

Hel.  Then  you  guess 
He  comes  a  wooing  1 

Jul.  I  guess  naught. 

Hcl.  You  do ! 
At  your  grave  words,  your  lips,  more  honest,  smile, 
And  show  them  to  be  traitors.    Hie  to  him. 

Jul.  Hie  thee  to  soberness.  [Exit.  l 

Hcl.  Ay,  will  I,  when 
Thy  bridemaid,  I  shall  hie  to  church  with  thee. 
Well,  Fathom,  who  is  come  ]  [Comes  down,  L 

Fath.  I  know  not. 

Hcl.  What! 
Did'st  thou  not  hear  his  name  ? 

Fath.  I  did. 

Hcl.  What  is't  1 

Fath.  I  noted  not. 

Hcl.  What  hast  thou  ears  for,  then  1 

Fath.  What  good  were  it  for  me  to  mind  his  name  ? 
I  do  but  what  I  must  do.    To  do  that 
ts  labor  quite  enough  ! 

Wal.  [  Without,  l.]  What,  Fathom  ! 

Fath.  Here. 

Wal.  [Entering,  l.]   Here,  sirrah  !    Wherefore  did'st 

not  come  to  me  ] 
Fath.  You  did  not  bid  me  come. 

Wal.  I  called  thee. 
Fath.  Yes, 


20 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[ACTl 


And  I  said,  "  Here  ;"  and  waited  then  to  know 
Your  worship's  will  with  me. 

Wal.  We  go  to  town — 
Thy  mistress,  thou,  and  all  the  house. 

Path.  Well,  sir] 

Wal.  (c.)  Mak'st  thou  not  ready,  then,  to  go  to  town  ? 
Fath.  You  didn't  bid  me  to  make  ready,  Sir. 

Wal.  Hence,  knave,  despatch  !  [Exit  Fathom, 

Hel.  Go  we  to  town  ? 

Wal.  We  do  ; 
'Tis  now  her  father's  will  she  sees  the  town. 
Hel.  I'm  glad  on't.    Goes  she  to  her  father  ] 

Wal.  No; 

With  the  consent  of  thine,  she  for  a  term 
Shares  roof  with  thee. 
Ilcl.  I'm  very  glad  on't. 
Wal.  What! 

You  like  her,  then  ?    I  thought  you  would.    'Tis  time 

She  sees  the  town. 

*  Hel.  It  has  been  time  for  that, 

These  six  years. 

Wal.  By  thy  wisdom's  count.    No  doubt 
You've  told  her  what  a  precious  place  it  is. 

Ilcl.  I  have. 

Wal.  I  even  guessed  as  much.    For  that 
I  told  thee  of  her;  brought  thee  here  to  see  her; 
And  prayed  thee  to  sojourn  a  space  with  her; 
That  its  fair  face,  from  thy  too  fair  report, 
Might  strike  a  novice  less, — so  less  deceive  her. 
I  did  not  put  thee  under  check. 

Ilcl.  'Twas  right — 
Else  I  had  broken  loose  and  run  the  wilder  ! 
So  knows  she  not  her  father  yet    that's  strange. 
I  prithee  how  does  mine  ? 

Wal.  Well— very  well. 
News  for  thee. 

Hel.  What? 

Wal.  Thy  cousin  is  in  town. 
Hel.  My  cousin  Modus  ? 
Wal.  Much  do  I  suspect 
That  cousin's  nearer  to  thy  heart  than  blood. 
Hel.  Pshaw  !    Wed  me  to  a  musty  library  f 


6CENE  HI.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


Love  him  who  nothing  loves  but  Greek  and  Latin  I 
But,  Master  Walter,  you  forget  the  main 
Surpassing  point  of  all.    Who's  come  with  you  ? 

Wal.  Ay,  that's  the  question  ! 

Htl.  Is  he  soldier  or 
Civilian  1  lord  or  gentleman  ]    He's  rich, 
If  that's  his  chariot !    Where  is  his  estate  1 
What  brings  it  in  ]    Six  thousand  pounds  a  year  ? 
Twelve  thousand,  may  be  1    Is  he  bachelor, 
Or  husband  %    Bachelor,  I'm  sure  he  is  ! 
Comes  he  not  hither  wooing,  Master  Walter  ] 
Nay,  prithee,  answer  me  ! 

Wal.  Who  says  thy  sex 
Are  curious  ]    That  they're  patient,  I'll  be  sworn  ,• 
And  reasonable — very  reasonable — 
To  look  for  twenty  answers  in  a  breath  ! 
Come,  thou  shalt  be  enlightened — but  propound 
Thy  questions  one  by  one  !     Thou'rt  far  too  apt 
A  scholar !    My  ability  to  teach 
Will  ne'er  keep  pace,  I  fear,  with  thine  to  learn. 

[Exeunt 

Scene  III. — An  Apartment  in  the  House. 
Enter  Julia,  followed  by  Clifford,  r. 

Jul.  No  more  !    I  pray  you,  Sir,  no  more  ! 

Clif  I  love  you. 

Jul.  You  mock  me,  Sir ! 

CUf.  Then  is  there  no  such  thing 
C)n  earth  as  reverence.    Honour  filial,  the  fear 
Of  kings,  the  awe  of  supreme  Heaven  itself, 
Are  only  shows  and  sounds  that  stand  for  nothing. 
I  love  you  ! 

Jul.  You  have  known  me  scarce  a  minute. 

Clif  Say  but  a  moment,  still  I  say  I  love  you. 
Love's  not  a  flower  that  grows  on  the  dull  earth  ; 
Springs  by  the  calendar;  must  wait  for  sun — 
For  rain  ;  matures  by  parts, — must  take  its  rime 
To  stem,  to  leaf,  to  bud,  to  blow.    It  owns 
A  richer  soil,  and  boasts  a  quicker  seed  ! 
You  look  for  it,  and  see  it  not ;  and  lo  ! 
E'en  while  you  look,  the  peerless  flower  is  up, 
Consummate  in  the  birth  ! 


?2 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[ACTl 


Jul.  "  Is't  fear  I  feel? 
M  Why  else  should  beat  my  heart  1    It  can't  be  fear  ! 
M  Something  1  needs  must  say."    You're  from. the  town; 
How  comes  it,  Sir,  you  seek  a  country  wife  1 
"  Me  thinks  'twill  tax  his  wit  to  answer  that." 

CI  if.  In  joining  contrasts  lieth  love's  delight. 
Complexion,  stature,  nature  mateth  it, 
Not  with  their  kinds,  but  with  their  opposites. 
Hence  hands  of  snow  in  palms  of  russet  lie  ; 
The  form  of  Hercules  affects  the  sylph's  ; 
And  breasts  that  case  the  lion's  fear-proof  heart, 
Find  their  loved  lodge  in  arms  where  tremors  dwell! 
"  Haply  for  this,  on  Afric's  swaithy  neck, 
"  Hath  Europe's  priceless  pearl  been  seen  to  hang, 
"  That  makes  the  orient  poor !    So  with  degrees — 
"  Rank  passes  by  the  circlet-graced  brow, 
"  Upon  the  forehead  bare  of  notelessness, 
"  To  print  the  nuptial  kiss  !    As  with  degrees, 
"  So  is't  with  habits;"  therefore  I,  indeed, 
A  gallant  of  the  town,  the  town  forsake, 
To  win  a  country  bride. 

Jul.  "  His  prompt  reply, 
44  My  backward  challenge  shames  !    Must  T  give  o'er  1 
44  I'll  try  his  wit  again."    Who  marries  me, 
Must  lead  a  country  life. 

Clf.  The  life  I  love  ! 
But  fools  would  fly  from  it ;  for  Oh  !  'tis  sweet ! 
It  finds  the  heart  out,  be  there  one  to  find  ; 
And  corners  in't  where  stores  of  pleasures  lodge, 
We  never  dreamed  were  there  !    It  is  to  dwell 
'Mid  smiles  that  are  not  neighbors  to  deceit; 
Music,  whose  melody  is  of  the  heart, 
14  And  gifts  that  are  not  made  for  interest, — 
4  Abundantly  bestowed,  by  nature's  cheek, 
44  And  voice,  and  hand !"    It  is  to  live  on  life, 
And  husband  it !    It  is  to  constant  scan 
The  handy  work  of  heaven  !    It  is  to  con 
Its  mercy,  bounty,  wisdom,  power  !    It  is 
To  nearer  see  our  God  ! 

Jul.  How  like  he  talks 
To  Master  Walter  !    14  Shall  I  give  it  o'er  1 
M  Not  yet."    Thou  would'st  not  live  one  half  a  year  \ 


Serine  III  ] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


23 


A  quarter  might'st  thou  for  the  novelty 

Of  fields  and  trees  ;  but  then  it  needs  must  be 

In  summer  time,  when  they  go  dressed. 

Clif.  "Not  it!" 
Tn  any  time — say  winter  !    Fields  and  treos 
Have  charms  for  me  in  very  winter  time. 

Jul.  But  snow  may  clothe  them  then 

Clif.  I  like  them  full 
As  well  in  snow  ! 

Jul.  You  do  ] 

Clif.  I  do ! 

Jul.  But  night 
Will  hide  both  snow  and  them  ;  and  that  sets  in 
Ere  afternoon  is  out.    A  heavy  thing, 
A  country  fireside  in  a  winter's  night, 
To  one  bred  in  the  town, — "  where  winter's  said, 
"  For  sun  of  gayety  and  sportiveness, 
'*  To  beggar  shining  summer." 

Clif.  I  should  like 
A  country  winter's  night  especially  ! 

Jul.  You'd  sleep  by  the  fire. 

Clif.  Not  I ;  I'd  talk  to  thee. 

Jul.  You'd  tire  of  that ! 

Clif  I'd  read  to  thee. 

Jul.  And  that ! 

Clif  I'd  talk  to  thee  again. 

Jul.  And  sooner  tire 
Than  first  you  did,  and  fall  asleep  at  last. 
"  You'd  never  do  to  lead  a  country  life." 

Clif.  "  You  deal  too  hardly  with  me!"  Matchless  maid, 
"  As  loved  instructor  brightens  dullest  wit," 
Fear  not  to  undertake  the  charge  of  me  !  [Kneels. 
A  willing  pupil  kneels  to  thee,  and  }ays 
His  title  and  his  fortune  at  your  feet. 

"  Jul.  His  title  and  his  fortune  !" 

Enter  Master  Walter  and  Helen,  r. — Julia,  disconcert* 
ed,  retires  with  tlie  latter,  l. — Clifford  rises. 
JVal.  So,  Sir  Thomas  ! 
Aha  !  you  husband  time  !  well,  was  I  right  1 
Is't  not  the  jewel  that  I  told  you  'twas  ? 
Would'st  thou  not  give  thine  eyes  to  wear  it  ]    Eh  ? 


24 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  I 


It  has  an  owner,  tho  , — nay,  start  not, — one 

That  may  be  brought  to  part  with't,  and  with  "whom 

I'll  stand  thy  friend — I  will — I  say,  I  will ! 

A  strange  man,  sir,  and  unaccountable  ; 

Cut  I  can  humour  him — will  humour  him 

For  thy  sake,  good  Sir  Thomas,  for  I  like  thee. 

Well,  is't  a  bargain  1    Come,  thy  hand  upon  it. 

A  word  or  two  with  thee. 

[  They  retire,  r.    Julia  and  Helen  come  Jbrwcrd,  L 
Jul.  (l.)  Go  up  to  town  ! 

Hel.  (r.)  Have  I  not  said  it  ten  times  o'er  to  thee] 
But  if  thou  lik'st  it  not,  protest  against  it. 

Jul.  Not  if  'tis  Master  Walters  will. 

Hel.  What  then  1 
Thou  would'st  not  break  thy  heart  for  Master  Walter? 

Jul.  That  follows  not ! 

Hel.  What  follows  not  % 

Jul  That  I 
Should  break  my  heart  that  I  go  up  to  town. 

Hel.  Indeed  !    Oh,  that's  another  matter.  Well, 
I'd  e'en  advise  thee,  then,  to  do  his  will ; 
And  ever  after,  when  I  prophesy, 
Believe  me,  Julia ! 

[They  retire.    Master  Walter  comes  forward 

Enter  Fathom,  l.,  crosses  to  Walter. 

Fath.  So  please  you,  sir,  a  letter, — a  post  haste  letter ! 
The  bearer  on  horseback,  the  horse  in  a  foam — smoking 
like  a  boiler  at  the  heat — be  sure  a  post-haste  letter  ! 
Wal.  Look  to  the  horse  and  rider. 

[Exit  Fathom,  l,    Opens  the  letter  and  rcadz 
*  What's  this  1    A  testament  addressed  to  me, 
"  Found  in  his  Lordship's  escrutoire,  and  thence 
"  Directed  to  be  taken  by  no  hand 
"  But  mine.    My  presence  instantly  required." 

[Sir  Thomas,  Julia,  and  Helen  come  forwards 
Come,  my  mistresses, 

You  dine  in  town  to-day.  [Crosses,  l.]  Your  father's  will 

It  is,  my  Julia,  that  you  see  the  world  ; 

And  thou  shalt  see  it  in  its  best  attire. — 

Its  gayest  looks — its  richest  finery 

It  shall  put  on  for  thee,  that  thou  may'st  judge 


m  1.1 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


25 


Betwixt  it,  and  the  rural  life  you've  lived, 

eBusiness  of  moment  I'm  but  just  adVised  of, 

Touching  the  will  of  my  late  noble  master, 

The  Earl  of  Rochdale,  recently  deceased, 

Commands  me  for  a  time  to  leave  thee  there. 

Sir  Thomas,  hand  her  to  the  chariot.  [Sir  Thomas  crosses 

to  her  and  hands  Julia  out,  l.;  they  pass  Walter,  wJuj 

then  leads  Helen  out,  l,]  Nay, 
I  tell  thee  true.    We  go  indeed  to  town  !  [Exeunt. 

END   OF  ACT  I. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — An  Apartment  in  Master  Heartwell's  House 
Enter  Thomas  and  Fathom,  r. 

Thorn.  Well,  Fathom,  is  thy  mistress  up  ] 

Fath.  She  is,  Master  Thomas,  and  breakfasted. 

Thorn.  She  stands  it  well  !  'Twas  five,  you  say,  when 
she  came  home  ;  and  wants  it  now  three  quarters  of  an 
hour  often  !    Wait  till  her  stock  of  country  health  is  out. 

Fath.  'Twill  come  to  that,  Master  Thomas,  before  she 
lives  another  month  in  town  !  Three,  four,  five,  six  o'clock, 
are  now  the  hours  she  keeps.  'Twas  otherwise  with  her 
ill  the  country.  There  my  mistress  used  to  rise  what  time 
she  now  lies  down. 

Thorn.  Why,  yes  ;  she's  changed  since  she  came  hither. 

Fath.  Changed,  do  you  say,  Master  Thomas  1  Changed 

forsooth  !    I  know  not  the  thimr  in  which  she  is  not  chang- 
es o 

ed.,  saving  that  she  is  still  a  woman.  I  tell  thee  there  is  no 
keeping  pace  with  her  moods.  In  the  country,  she  had 
iione  of  them.  When  I  brought  what  she  asked  for,  it  was 
M  th»j*k  you,  Fathom,"  and  no  more  to  do  ;  but  now,  noth- 
ing contents  her.  Hark  ye  !  were  you  a  gentleman,  Mas- 
ter Thomas, — for  then  you  know  you  would  be  a  different 
kind  of  man, — how  many  times  would  you  have  your  coat 
altered  ] 

Thorn.  Why,  Master  Fathom,  as  many  times  as  it  would 
take  to  make  it  fit  me. 


26 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  II 


Fatli.  Good  !    But  supposing  it  fitted  thee  at  first? 

Thorn.  Then  would  \  have  it  altered  not  at  all. 

Fath.  Good  !  Thou  would'st  be  a  reasonable  gentleman. 
Thou  would'st  have  a  conscience.  Now  hark  to  a  tale 
about  my  lady's  last  gown.  How  many  times,  think  you, 
took  I  it  back  to  the  sempstress  ] 

Thorn.  Thrice,  may  be. 

Fath.  Thrice,  may  be  !  Twenty  times,  may  be ;  and 
not  a  turn  too  many  for  the  truth  on't.  Twenty  times,  on 
the  oath  of  the  sempstress.  Now  mark  me — can  you 
count  1 

Tliom.  After  a  fashion. 

Fath.  You  have  much  to  be  thankful  for,  Master  Thom- 
as ;  you  London  serving-men  know  a  world  of  things,  which 
we  in  the  country  never  dream  of.  Now  mark  : — four 
times  took  I  it  back  for  the  flounce  ;  twice  for  the  sleeves  ; 
thrice  for  the  tucker.    How  many  times  in  all  is  that  1 

Thorn.  Eight  times  to  a  traction,  Master.  Fathom. 

Fath.  What  a.  master  of  figures  you  are  !  Eight  times 
— now  recollect  that!  And  then  found  she  fault  with  the 
trimmings.  Now,  tell  me  how  many  times  took  I  back 
the  gown  for  the  trimmings  1 

Thorn.  Eight  times  more,  perhaps  ! 

Fath.  Ten  times  to  a  certainty.  How  many  times  make* 
that] 

Thorn.  Eighteen,  Master  Fa'hom-  by  the  rule  of  addi 
tion. 

Fath.  And  how  many  times  more  will  make  twenty  1 
Thorn.  Twice,  by  the  same  rule. 

Fath.  Thou  hast  worked  with  thy  pencil  and  slate,  Mas 
ter  Thomas  !  Well,  ten  times,  as  I  said,  took  I  back  th*» 
gown  for  the  trimmings  :  and  was  she  consent  after  all  I 
I  warrant  you.  no,  or  my  ears  did  not  pay  for  it.  She  wish- 
ed, she  said,  that  the  slattern  sempstress  had  not  touched 
the  gown  ;  for  naught  had  she  done,  but  botched  it.  Now 
what,  think  you,  had  the  sempstress  done  to  the  gown  ? 

Thorn.  To  surmise  that,  I  must  be  learned  in  the  semp 
stress's  art. 

Fath.  The  sempstress's  art !  Thou  has  hit  it !  Oh,  the 
sweet  sempstress  !  The  excellent  sempstress  !  Mistress 
of  her  scissors  and  needles,  which  are  pointless  and  edge- 
less  to  her  art !    The  sempstress  had  done  nothing  to  Uie 


Scene  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


27 


gown,  yet  raves  and  storms  my  mistress  at  her  for  having 
botched  it  in  the  making  and  mending ;  and  orders  her 
straight  to  make  another  one,  which  home  the  sempstress 
brings  on  Tuesday  last. 

Thorn.  And  found  thy  fair  mistress  as  many  faults  with 
.hat  \ 

Falh.  Nc?i:  one  !  She  finds  it  a  very  pattern  of  a  gown ! 
A.  well  sitting  flounce  !  The  sleeves  a  fit — the  tucker  a 
It — the  trimmings  her  fancy  to  a  T — ha  !  ha !  ha !  and 
she  praised  the  sempstress — ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  and  she  smiles 
at  me,  and  I  smile — ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  and  the  sempstress  smiles 
— ha  !  ha  !  ha  !    Now  why  did  the  sempstress  smile  1 

Thoyi.  That  she  had  succeeded  so  well  in  her  art. 

Fat/ii  Thou  hast  hit  it  again.  The  jade  must  have  been 
oorn  a  sempstress.  If  ever  I  marry,  she  shall  work  for 
my  wife.  The  gown  was  the  same  gown,  and  there  was 
my  mistress's  twentieth  mood  ! 

Thorn.  What,  think  you,  will  Master  Walter  say  when 
he  comes  back  %  I  fear  he'll  hardly  know  his  country  maid 
again.    Has  she  yet.  fixed  her  wedding  day  1 

Fatli.  She  has,  Master  Thomas.  I  coaxed  it  from  her 
maid.    She  marries  Monday  week. 

Thorn.  Comes  not  Master  W alter  back  to-day  1 

Fath.  Your  master  expects  him.  [Bell  ringing,  l.]  Per- 
naps  that's  he.  I  prithee  go  and  open  the  door  ;  do,  Mas- 
ter Thomas,  do  ;  for  proves  it  my  master,  he'll  surely  ques- 
tion me. 

Thorn.  And  what  should  I  do  ? 

Fath.  Answer  him,  Master  Thomas,  and  make  him  none 
the  wiser.  He'll  go  mad,  when  he  learns  how  my  lady 
flaunts  it !  Go  !  open  the  door,  I  prithee.  Fifty  things, 
Master  Thomas,  know  you,  for  one  thing  that  I  know ; 
you  can  turn  and  twist  a  matter  into  any  other  kind  of  mat- 
ter, and  then  twist  and  turn  it  back  again,  if  needs  be  ;  so 
much  you  servants  of  the  town  beat  us  of  the  country,  Mas- 
ter Thomas.  Open  the  door,  now  ;  do,  Master  Thomas, 
do  !  [Exeunt ,  l. 

Scene  II. — A  Garden  icith  two  Arbors,  r.  and  L. 

Enter  Master  Heartwell,  r.,  and  Master  Walter,  l„ 
meeting. 

Heart.  Good  Master  Walter,  welcome  back  again  ! 


28 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  II 


Wal.  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Master  HeartweJl. 

Heart.  How, 
I  pray  you,  sped  the  weighty  bus'ness  which 
So  sudden  called  you  hence  1 

Wal,  Weighty,  indeed  ! 
What  thou  would'st  ne'er  expect — wilt  scarce  belie\e! 
Long  hidden  wrong,  wondrously  come  to  light, 
And  great  right  done  !    But  more  of  this,  anon. 
Now  of  my  ward  discourse  !    Likes  she  the  town  ? 
How  does  she  ]    Is  she  well  ]    Can'st  match  me  her 
Amongst  your  city  maids  ? 

Heart.  Nor  court  ones  neither  ! 
She  far  outstrips  tliem  all ! 

Wal.  I  knew  she  would. 
What  else  could  follow  in  a  maid  so  bred  1 
A  pure  mind,  Master  Heartwell ! — not  a  taint 
From  intercourse  with  the  distempered  town; 
With  which  all  contact  was  walled  out ;  until, 
Matured  in  soundness,  I  could  trust  her  to  it, 
And  sleep  amidst  infection.  [Crosse,  ft 

Heart.  Master  Walter ! 

Wal.  Weill 

Heart.  Tell  me,  prithee,  which  is  likelier 
To  plough  a  sea  in  safety  ? — he  that's  wont 
To  sail  in  it, — or  he  that  by  the  chart 
Is  master  of  its  soundings,  bearings, — knows 
Its  headlands,  havens,  currents, — where  'tis  bold, 
And  where  behoves  to  keep  a  good  look  out  ? — 
The  one  will  swim  where  sinks  the  other  one  ! 

Wal.  The  drift  of  this] 

Heart.  Do  you  not  guess  it  1 
Wal,  Humph! 

Heart.  If  you  would  train  a  maid  to  live  in  town 
Breed  her  not  in  the  country  ! 

Wal.  Say  you  so  ] 
And  stands  she  not  the  test  ] 

Heart.  As  snow  stands  fire  ! 
Your  country  maid  has  melted  all  away, 
And  plays  the  city  lady  to  the  height  : — 
Her  mornings  gives  to  mercers,  milliners, 
Shoemakers,  jewellers,  and  haberdashers; 
Her  noons,  to  calls;  her  afternoons,  to  dressing; 


Scene  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


29 


Evenings  to  plays  or  cards  ;  and  niglits,  to  outs, 
Balls,  masquerades  !    Sleep  only  ends  the  riot, 
Which  waking  still  begins  ! 

Wal.  I'm  all  amaze  ! 
How  bears  Sir  Thomas  this  1 

Heart.  Why,  patiently ; 
Though,  one  can  see,  with  pain. 

Wal.  She  loves  him  %    Ha  ! 
That  shrug  is  doubt !    She'd  ne'er  consent  to  wed  him, 
Unless  she  loved  him  ! — never  !    Her  young  fancy, 
The  pleasures  of  the  town — new  things — have  caught. 
Anon  their  hold  will  slacken  :  she'll  become 
Her  former  self  again  :  to  its  old  train 
Of  sober  feelings  will  her  heart  return  ; 
And  then  she'll  give  it  wholly  to  the  man, 
Her  virgin  wishes  chose  !  [Crosses,  h 

Heart.  Here  comes  Sir  Thomas  ; 
And  with  him  Master  Modus. 

Wal.  Let  them  pass  : 
I  would  not  see  him  till  I  speak  with  her. 

[  They  retire  into  the  arbor,  l 

Enter  Clifford  and  Modus,  r. 

Clif.  A  dreadful  question  is  it,  when  we  love, 
To  ask  if  love's  returned  !     I  did  believe 
Fair  Julia's  heart  was  mine — I  doubt  it  now. 
But  once  last  night  she  danced  with  me,  her  hand 
To  this  gallant  and  that  engaged,  as  soon 
As  asked  for  !    "  Maid  that  loved  would  scarce  do  this  ! 
"  Nor  visit  we  together  as  we  used, 
"  When  first  she  came  to  town."    She  loves  me  less 
Than  once  she  did — or  loves  me  not  at  all.       [Crosses^  R 

Mod.  I'm  little  skilled,  Sir  Thomas,  in  the  world  ; 
What  mean  you  now  to  do  ! 

Clif.  Remonstrate  with  her! 
"  Come  to  an  understanding,  and,  at  once — " 
If  she  repents  her  promise  to  be  mine, 
Absolve  her  from  it — and  say  farewell  to  her.   [Crosses,  l 

Mod.  Lo,  then,  your  opportunity — she  comes, — 
My  cousin  with  her — her  will  I  engage, 
Whilst  you  converse  together. 

Clif.  Nay,  not  yet ! 


30 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  n 


My  heart  turns  coward  at  the  sight  of  her. 
Stay  till  it  finds  new  courage  !    Let  them  pass. 

[  They  retire  up,  c 

Enter  Julia  and  Helen,  r. 

Hcl.  So,  Monday  week  will  say  good  morn  to  theo 
A  maid,  and  bid  good  night  a  sober  wife  ! 

Jul.  That  Monday  week,  I  trust,  will  never  come 
That  brags  to  make  a  sober  wife  of  me  ! 

Hcl.  How  changed  you  are,  my  Julia  ! 

Jul.  Change  makes  change. 

Hcl.  Why  wedd'st  thou,  then  ] 

Jul.  Because  I  promised  him. 

Hcl.  Thou  lov'st  him  % 

Jul.  Do  I  X 

Hcl.  He's  a  man  to  love  : 
A  right  well-favoured  man  ! 

Jul.  Your  point's  well  favoured. 
Where  did  you  purchase  it  ]    "  In  Gracechurch  street  V 

Hcl.  Pshaw  !  never  mind  my  point,  but  talk  of  him. 

Jul.  I'd  rather  talk  with  thee  about  the  lace. 
Where  bought  you  it  ]    In  Gracechurch  street,  Cbeapside, 
Whitechapel,  Little  Britain  ]    Can't  you  say 
Where  'twas  you  bought  the  lace  ] 

Hcl.  In  Cheapside,  then, 
And  now,  then,  to  Sir  Thomas  !    He  is  just 
The  height  I  like  a  man, 

Jul.  Thy  feather's  just 
The  height  I  like  a  feather  !    Mine's  too  long! 
What  shall  I  give  thee  in  exchange  for  it  1 

Hcl.  What  shall  I  give  thee  for  a  minute's  talk 
About  Sir  Thomas  % 

Jul.  Why,  thy  feather. 

Hcl.  Take  it ! 

"  Glif.  [Aside  to  Modus.]  What !  likes  she  not  to  speak 
of  me!" 

Hcl.  And  now 
Let's  talk  about  Sir  Thomas — "  much,  I'm  sure, 
"  He  loves  you. 

"  Jul.  Much,  I'm  sure,  he  has  a  right ! 
"  Those  know  I  who  would  give  their  eyes  to  be 
"  Sir  Thomas,  for  my  sake  ! 


6CE*E  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


31 


"  Hcl.  Such,  too,  know  I. 
'But  'mong  them,  none  that  can  compaie  with  him, 
'  Not  one  so  graceful. 

"  Jul.  What  a  graceful  set 
'  Your  feather  has  ! 

"  Hcl.  Nay,  give  it  back  to  me, 
*  Unless  you  pay  me  for't. 

14  -Jul.  What  was't  to  get  ] 

"  IJel.  A  minute's  talk  with  thee  about  Sir  Thomas." 

Jul.  Talk  of  his  title  and  his  fortune,  then. 

"CUf.  [Aside]  Indeed  !    I  would  not  listen,  yet  I  must  i 

"  JulP  An  ample  fortune,  Helen  !    I  shall  be 
A  happy  wife  !     What  routs,  what  balls,  what  masques, 
What  gala  days  ! 

4<  CUf.  [Aside.]  For  these  she  marries  me  ! 
<  She'll  talk  of  these  ! 

"  July  Think  not,  when  I  am  wed, 
I'll  keep  the  house  as  owlet  does  her  tower, 
Alone, — when  every  other  bird's  on  wing. 
I'll  use  my  palfrey,  Helen  ;  and  my  coach  ; 
My  barge,  too,  for  excursions  on  the  Thames  ; 
"  What  drives  to  Barnet,  Hackney,  Islington  !" 
What  rides  to  Epping,  Hounslow,  and  Blackheath  ! 
What  sails  to  Greenwich,  AVoolwich,  Fulham,  Kew! 
I'll  set  a  pattern  to  your  lady  wives  ! 

CUf  [Aside,  r.  c.]  Ay,  lady  1    Trust  me,  not  at  my  ex 
pense. 

Jul.  And  what  a  wardrobe  !    I'll  have  change  of  suits 
For  every  day  in  the  year  !  and  sets  for  days  ! 
My  morning  dress,  my  noon  dress,  dinner  dress, 
And  evening  dress  !    Then  will  I  shew  you  lace 
A  foot  deep,  can  I  purchase  it ;  if  not, 
I'll  specially  bespeak  it.    Diamonds,  too  ! 
Not  buckles,  rings,  and  ear-rings,  only — but 
Whole  necklaces  and  stomachers  of  gems  ! 
I'll  shine  !  be  sure  I  will. 

"  C/if.  [Aside]  Then  shine  away ; 
4<  Who  covets  thee  may  wear  thee  :  I'm  not  he ! 

"  Jul.  And  then  my  title  !    Soon  as  I  put  oi. 
"  The  ring,  I'm  Lady  Clifford.    So  I  take 
"  Precedence  of  plain  mistress,  were  she  e'en 
**  The  richest  heiress  in  the  land  !    At  town 


3i 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


'Act  II 


1  CK  country  ball,  you'll  see  me  take  the  lea  J, 
"  While  wives  that  carry  on  their  backs  the  wealth 
"  To  dower  a  princess,  shall  give  place  to  me ; — 
"  Will  I  not  profit,  think  you,  by  my  right  ] 
"  Be  sure  I  will  !    Marriage  shall  prove  to  me 
'*  A  never-ending  pageant.    Every  day 
M  Shall  show  how  I  am  spoused  !"    I  will  be  known 
For  Lady  Clifford  all  the  city  through, 
And  fifty  miles  the  country  round  about. 
Wife  of  Sir  Thomas  Clifford,  baronet — 
Not  perishable  knight ;  who,  when  he  makes 
A  lady  of  me,  doubtless  must  expect 

To  see  me  play  the  part  of  one.  [Crosses,  R. 

CI  if  [Comes  forward,  r.  c]  Most  true. 
But  not  the  part  which  you  design  to  play. 

Jul.  A  list'ner,  sir  ! 

Clif  By  chance,  and  not  intent. 
Your  speech  was  forced  upon  mine  car,  that  ne'er 
More  thankless  duty  to  my  heart  discharged  ! 
Would  for  that  heart  it  ne'er  had  known  the  sense 
Which  tells  it  'tis  a  bankrupt  there,  where  most 
It  coveted  to  be  rich,  and  thought  it  was  so  ! 
Oh,  Julia  !  is  it  you  ?    Could  1  have  set 
A  coronet  upon  that  stately  brow, 
Where  partial  nature  hath  already  bound 
A  brighter  circlet — radiant  beauty's  own — 
I  had  been  proud  to  see  thee  proud  of  it, — 
So  for  the  donor  thou  hadst  ta'en  the  gift, 
Not  for  the  gift  ta'en  him.    Could  I  have  poured 
The  wealth  of  richest  Croesus  in  thy  lap. 
I  had  been  blest  to  see  thee  scatter  it, 
So  I  were  still  thy  riches  paramount ! 

Jul.  Know  you  me,  Sir  1 

Clif.  I  do  !    On  Monday  week, 
We  were  to  wed  ;  and  are,  so  you're  content 
The  day  that  weds,  wives  you  to  be  widowed.  Take 
The  privilege  of  my  wife  ;  be  Lady  Clifford ! 
Outshine  thy  title  in  the  wearing  on't  ! 
My  coffers,  lands,  are  all  at  thy  command  j 
Wear  all !  but,  for  myself,  she  wears  not  me, 
"  Although  the  coveted  of  every  eye," 
Who  would  not  wear  me  for  myself  alone        [Crosses,  a 


Scene  1 1 1. J 


THE  HUNCHEA JK. 


33 


Jul.  And  do  you  carry  it  so  proudly,  Sir? 

CI  if.  Proudly,  but  still  more  sorrowfully,  Lady  ! 
I'll  lead  thee  to  the  church  on  Monday  week. 
Till  then,  farewell !  and  then, — farewell  forever  ! 

[Takes  off  his  hat. 

Oh,  Julia,  I  have  ventured  for  thy  love, 
As  the  bold  merchant,  who,  for  only  hope 
Of  some  rich  gain,  all  former  gains  will  risk  ! 
Before  I  asked  a  portion  of  thy  heart, 
T  joeriled  all  my  own  ;  and  now,  all's  lost ! 

[Exit,  11.    Modus  follows  Mm. 

Jul.  Helen  ! 

Hcl.  What  ails  you,  sweet  % 

Jul.  I  cannot  breathe — quick,  loose  my  girdle,  oh  ! 

[Faints. 

Master  Walter,  r.,  and  Master  Heartwell,  l.,  come 
forward. 

TVal.  Good  Master  Heartwell,  help  to  lake  her  in, 
Whilst  I  make  after  him  ! — and  look  to  her  I 
Unlucky  chance  that  took  me  out  of  town  I 

[Exit  Walter,  r. — Heartwell  bears  oj  ,jU,,t^,  l.  Helen 
following. 

Scene  III.— The  Street. 

Enter  Clifford,  r.,  and  Stephen,  l.,  meeting. 

Ste.  Letters,  Sir  Thomas. 

CUf.  Take  them  home  again  ; 
T  shall  not  read  them  now. 

Ste.  Your  pardon,  Sir, 
But  here  is  one  directed  strangely. 

Clif.  How  1 

Ste.  *  To  Master  Clifford,  gentleman  ;  now  styled 
Sir  Thomas  Clifford,  baronet.' 

CUf.  Indeed ! 
Whence  comes  that  letter  % 

Ste.  From  abroad. 

CUf.  Which  is  it  % 

Ste.  So  please  you,  this,  Sir  Thomas. 

CUf.  Give  it  me.  [Crosses,  l.  reading  letter 

Ste.  That  letter  biings  not  news,  to  wish  him  joy  upou 


34 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  II, 


If  lie  was  iisturbed  before,  which  I  guessed  by  his  looks 
tie  was,  he  is  not  more  at  ease  now.  His  hand  to  his  head  ! 
A  most  unwelcome  letter  !  If  it  brings  him  news  of  dis- 
aster, fortune  does  not  give  him  his  deserts ;  for  never 
waited  servant  upon  a  kinder  master. 

Clif.  Stephen! 

Stc.  Sir  Thomas  ! 

CUf.  From  my  door  remove 
The  plate  that  bears  my  name. 

Stc.  The  plate,  Sir  Thomas  1 

Clif.  The  plate.    Collect  my  servants  and  instruct  them 
All  to  make  out  their  claims  unto  the  end 
Of  their  respective  terms,  and  give  them  in 
To  my  steward.    Him  and  them  apprise,  good  fellow, 
That  I  keep  house  no  more.    "  As  you  go  home, 
1  Call  at  my  coachmaker's,  and  bid  him  stop 
'  The  carriage  I  bespoke.    The  one  I  have, 
"  Send  with  my  horses  to  the  mart  whereat 
"  Such  things  are  sold  by  auction — they're  for  sale. 
"  Pack  up  my  wardrobe — have  my  trunks  conveyed 
"  To  the  Inn  in  the  next  street" — and  when  that's  done, 
Go  to  mv  tr* 1  imen,  and  collect  their  bills, 
And  bring  them  to  me  at  the  Inn. 

Ste.  The  Inn  ! 

Clif  Yes  •  I  go  home  no  more.    Why,  what's  the  mas- 
ter ] 

What  has  fallen  out  to  make  your  eyes  fill  up  % 
You'll  get  another  place.    I'll  certify 
You're  honest  and  industrious,  and  all 
That  a  servant  ought  to  be. 

Ste.  I  see,  Sir  Thomas, 
Some  great  misfortune  has  befallen  you. 

Clif.  No! 

I've  health;  I've  strength;   my  reason,  Stephen,  and 

A  heart  that's  clear  in  truth,  with  trust  in  God. 

No  great  disaster  can  befall  the  man, 

Who's  still  possessed  of  these  !    Good  fellow,  leave  mo, 

•What  you  would  learn,  and  have  a  right  to  know, 
u  I  would  not  tell  you  now.    Good  Stephen,  hence  '  ' 
Mischance  has  fallen  on  me — but  what  of  that  ] 
Mischance  has  fallen  on  many  a  better  man. 

*  I  prithee  leave  me.    I  grow  sadder  while 


ScEPTE  III.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


35 


"  I  see  the  oye  with  which  you  view  my  grief. 
"  'Sdeath,  they  will  out !    I  would  have  been  a  man, 
"  Had  you  been  less  a  kind  and  gentle  one." 
Now,  as  you  love  me,  leave  me. 

Ste.  Never  master 
So  well  deserved  the  love  of  him  that  served  him. 

[Exit  Stephen,  it. 

CI  if.  Misfortune  likoth  company  :  it  seldom 
Visits  its  friends  alone.    Ha,  Master  Walter, 
And  ruffled,  too  !    I'm  m  no  mood  for  him. 

Enter  Master  Walter,  l. 

Wal.  So,  Sir ! — Sir  Thomas  Clifford  ! — what  with  speed 
And  choler — I  do  gasp  for  want  of  breath  ! 

Clif.  Well,  Master  Walter  1 

Wal.  You're  a  rash  young  man,  Sir  ! 
Strong-headed  and  wrong-headed — and  I  fear,  Sir! 
Not  over  delicate  in  that  fine  sense 
Which  men  of  honour  pride  themselves  upon,  Sir  ! 

Clif.  Well,  Master  Walter  ! 

Wal.  A  young  woman's  heart,  Sir, 
Is  not  a  stone  to  carve  a  posy  on  ! 

Which  knows  not  what  is  writ  on't — which  you  may  buy 
Exchange,  or  sell,  Sir — keep  or  give  away,  Sir  ; 
It  is  a  richer,  yet  a  poorer  thing  ! 
Priceless  to  him  that  owns  and  prizes  it ; 
Worthless  when  owned,  not  prized  ;  which  makes  the  man 
That  covets  it,  obtains  it,  and  discards  it, — 
A  fool,  if  not  a  villain,  Sir  ! 
Clif.  Well,  Sir ! 

Wal.  You  never  loved  my  ward,  Sir  ! 

Clif.  The  bright  Heavens 
Bear  witness  that  I  did  ! 

Wal.  The  bright  Heavens,  Sir, 
Bear  not  false  witness.    That  you  loved  her  not, 
Is  clear, — for  had  you  loved  her,  you'd  have  plucked 
Your  heart  from  out  your  breast,  'ere  cast  her  from  your 
heart ! 

Old  as  I  am,  I  know  what  passion  is. 

"  It  is  the  summer's  heat,  Sir,  which  in  vain 

*  We  look  for  frost  in  !    Ice,  like  you,  Sir,  knows 

1  But  little  ^f  such  heat!"  We're  wronged,  Sir,  wronged! 


36 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


A  it  If 


"  You  wear  a  sword,  and  so  do  I  ! 
"  Clif.  WeJ,  Sir  ! 

"  Wal.  You  know  the  use,  Sir,  of  a  sword  ? 

Clif.  "I  do. 
"  To  whip  a  knave,  Sir,  or  an  honest  man — 
"  A  wise  man  or  a  fool — atone  for  wrong, 
''Or  double  the  amount  on't."    Master  Walter,* 
Touching  your  ward,  if  wrong  is  done,  I  think 
On  my  side  lies  the  grievance.    "  I  would  not  say  so, 
"  Did  I  not  think  so."    As  for  love — look,  Sir, 
That  hand's  a  widower's,  to  its  first  mate  sworn 
To  clasp  no  second  one.    As  for  amends,  Sir, 
You're  free  to  get  them  from  a  man  in  whom 
You've  been  forestalled  by  fortune,  "  in  the  spite 
"  Which  she  has  vented  on  him,  if  you  still 
"  Esteem  him  worth  your  anger."    Please  you  read 
That  letter.    Now,  Sir,  judge  if  life  is  dear, 
To  one  so  much  a  loser. 

Wal.  What,  all  gone  ! 
Thy  cousin  living  they  reported  dead  ! 

Clif.  Title  and  land,  Sir,  unto  which,  add  love  ; 
All  gone,  save  life — and  honour! — which,  ere  I'll  lose, 
I'll  let  the  other  go  ! 

Wal.  We're  public  here, 
And  may  be  interrupted.    Let  us  seek 
Some  spot  of  privacy.    Your  letter,  Sir  !      \ Gives  u  hack 
Tho'  fortune  slights  you,  I'll  not  slight  you  !  Not 
Your  title  or  the  lack  of  it  I  heed. 
Whether  upon  the  score  of  love  or  hate, 
With  you,  and  you  alone,  I  settle,  Sir. 
We've  gone  too  far.    'Twere  folly  now  to  part 
Without  a  reckoning. 

C/f.  Just  as  you  please. 

Wal.  You've  done  a  noble  lady  wrong. 

Clif.  That  lady 
Has  done  me  wrong. 

Wal.  Go  to  !    Thou  art  a  boy 
Fit  to  be  trusted  with  a  plaything,  not 
A  woman's  heart.    Thou  know'st  not  what  it  is  ! 

*  Clifford's  reply  commences  here  in  the  representation— his  cup  be 
Dg,  Wronged,  Sir,  teronged  ! 


SC£KE  I.j 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


3-; 


Which  I  will  prove  to  thee,  soon  as  we  find 

Convenient  place.    Come  on,  Sir  !  you  shall  get 

A.  lesson  that  shall  serve  you  for  the  rest 

0:  your  life.    I'll  make  you  own  her,  Sir,  a  piece 

Of  Nature's  handiwork,  as  costly,  free 

From  bias,  flaw ,  and  fair  as  ever  yet 

Her  cunning  hand  turned  out.    Come  on,  Sir  ! — come  ! 

[Exeunt ,  & 

END  OF  ACT  II. 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — A  Drawing  Room. 
Enter  Lord  Tinsel  and  the  Earl  op  Rochdale. 

Tin.  Refuse  a  lord  !    A  saucy  lady,  this  ! 
I  scarce  can  credit  it. 

Roch.  She'll  change  her  mind. 
My  agent,  Master  Walter,  is  her  guardian. 

Tin.  H'ow  can  you  keep  that  Hunchback  in  his  office  1 
He  mocks  you. 

Roch.  He  is  useful.    Never  heed  him. 
My  offer  now  do  I  present  through  him. 
He  has  the  title-deeds  of  my  estates. 
She'll  listen  to  their  wooing.    I  must  have  her. 
Not  that  I  love  her,  but  that  all  allow 
She's  fairest  of  the  fair. 

Tin.  Distinguished  well  : 
'Twere  most  unseemly  for  a  lord  to  love  ! 
Leave  that  to  commoners.    'Tis  vulgar.  She's 
Betrothed,  you  tell  me,  to  Sir  Thomas  Clifford  1 

Roch.  Yes. 

Tin.  That  a  commoner  should  thwart  a  Lord  ! 
Yet  not  a  commoner.    A  Baronet 
Ts  fish  and  flesh.    Nine  parts  plebeian,  and 
Patrician  in  the  tenth.    Sir  Thomas  Clifford  ! 
A  man,  they  say,  of  brains.    I  abhor  brains 
As  1  do  tools  !     They're  things  mechanical. 
So  far  are  we  above  our  forefathers  : — 


38 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  III 


I  hoy  to  their  brains  did  owe  their  titles,  as 
Do  lawyers,  doctors.    We  to  nothing  owe  them, 
Which  makes  us  far  the  nobler. 
Roch.  Is  it  so  ? 

Tin.  Believe  me.    You  shall  profit  by  my  trainirg: 
You  grow  a  Lord  apace.    I  saw  you  meet 
A  bevy  of  your  former  friends,  who  fain 
Had  shaken  hands  with  you.    You  gave  them  fingers  ! 
You're  now  another  man.    Your  house  is  changed, — 
Your  table  changed — your  retinue — your  horse — 
Where  once  you  rode  a  hack,  you  now  back  blood  ;— 
Befits  it  then  you  also  change  your  friends  ! 

Enter  Williams,  v.. 

Wil.  A  gentleman  would  see  your  lordship. 
Tin.  Sir  ? 

What's  that  ?  [Crosses  to  Williams 

Wil.  A  gentleman  would  see  his  lordship. 
Tin.  How  know  you,  Sir,  his  lordship  is  at  home  ] 

Ts  he  at  home  because  he  goes  not  out  ? 

He's  not  at  home,  though  there  you  see  him,  Sir, 

Unless  he  certify  that  he's  at  home! 

Bring  up  the  name  of  the  gentleman,  and  then 

Your  lord  will  know  if  he's  at  home  or  not. 

[Exit  Williams,  l 

Your  man  was  porter  to  some  merchant's  door, 

Who  never  taught  him  better  breeding  than 

To  speak  the  vulgar  truth  !    Well,  Sir  ] 

Williams  having  re-entered,  l. 

Wil.  His  name, 
So  please  your  lordship,  Markham. 

Tin.  Do  you  know 
The  thing  1 

Rock.  Right  well !    I'faith,  a  hearty  fellow, 
Son  to  a  worthy  tradesman,  "  who  would  do 
4  Great  things  with  little  means  ;  so  entered  him 
"  In  the  Temple.    A  good  fellow,  on  my  life, 
"  Naught  smacking  of  his  stock  !" 

Tin.  You've  said  enough  ! 
His  lordship's  not  a*  home.  [Exit  Williams,  l.]  "  We  do 
not  go 


(JCEHE  I.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK, 


■  By  hearts,  but  orders  !"    Had  lie  family — 
Blood — tho'  it  only  were  a  drop — his  heart 
Would  pass  for  something;  lacking  such  desert. 
Were  it  ten  times  the  heart  it  is,  'tis  naught! 

Enter  Williams,  l. 

Wil.  One  Master  Jones  hath  asked  to  see  your  lordsa 
Tin.  And  what  was  your  reply  to  Master  Jones  1 
Wil.  I  knew  not  if  his  lordship  was  at  home. 
Tin.  You'll  do.    Who's  Master  Jones  1 
Ror.h.  A  curate's  son. 

Tin.  A  curate's  1    Better  be  a  yeoman's  son  ! 
"  Were  it  the  rector's  son,  he  might  be  known, 
"  Because  the  rector  is  a  rising  man, 
**  And  may  become  a  bishop.    He  goes  light. 
"  The  curate  ever  hath  a  loaded  back. 
"  He  may  be  called  the  yeoman  of  the  church 
"  That  sweating  does  his  work,  and  drudges  on 
"  While  lives  the  hopeful  rector  at  his  ease." 
How  made  you  his  acquaintance,  pray  1 

Eocli.  W e  read 
Latin  and  Greek  together. 

Tin.  Dropping  them — 
As,  now  that  you're  a  lord,  of  course  you've  done — 
Drop  him. — You'll  say  his  lordships  not  at  home. 

Wil.  So  please  your  lordship,  I  forgot  to  say, 
One  Richard  Cricket  likewise  is  below. 

Tin.  Who  1    Richard  Cricket !    You  must  see  hill7 
Rochdale  ! 

A  noble  little  fellow  !    A  great  man,  Sir ! 
Not  knowing  whom,  you  would  be  nobody  ' 
1  won  five  thousand  pounds  by  him  ! 

Rock.  Who  is  he  '( 
L  never  heard  of  him. 

Tin.  What !  never  heard 
Of  Richard  Cricket !  never  heard  of  him  ! 
Why,  he's  the  jockey  of  Newmarket ;  you 
May  win  a  cup  by  him,  or  else  a  sweepstakes. 
I  bade  him  call  upon  you.    You  must  see  him. 
His  lordship  is  at  home  to  Richard  Cricket. 

Rock.  Bid  him  wait  in  the  ante- room.  [  Williams  goes 

Tin.  The  ante-room  % 


40 


THE  HUNCHBACK 


[Act  III 


The  best  room  in  your  house !    You  do  not  know 
The  use  of  Richard  Cricket  !    Show  him,  Sir, 
Into  the  drawing-room.  [Exit  Williams,!..]  Your  lordship 
needs 

Must  keep  a  racing  stud,  and  you'll  do  well 

To  make  a  friend  of  Richard  Cricket.    "  Well,  Sir, 

"  What's  that  % 

"  Enter  Williams. 

"  Wil.  So  please  your  lordship,  a  petition. 

"  Tin.  Had'st  not  a  service  'mongst  the  Hottentots 
"  Ere  thou  cam'st  hither,  friend  %    Present  thy  lord 
"  With  a  petition  !    At  mechanics'  doors, 
"  At  tradesmens',  shopkeepers',  and  merchants'  only, 
"  Have  such  things  leave  to  knock  !    Make  thy  lord's  gate 
"  A  wicket  to  a  workhouse  !    Let  us  see  it — 
"  Subscriptions  to  a  book  of  poetry! 
"  Who  heads  the  list  1    Cornelius  Tense,  A.M. 
"  Which  means  he  construes  Greek  and  Latin,  works 
"  Problems  in  mathematics,  can  chop  logic, 
"  And  is  a  conjurer  in  philosophy, 
"  Both  natural  and  moral. — Pshaw  !  a  man 
M  Whom  nobody,  that  is,  anybody,  knows. 
"  Who,  think  you,  follows  him  1    Why,  an  M.D. 
"  An  F.R.S.,  and  F.A.S.,  and  then 
"A  D.D.,  Doctor  of  Divinity, 
''Ushering  in  an  L.L.D.,  which  means 
"  Doctor  of  Laws — their  harmony,  no  doubt, 
"  The  difference  of  their  trades  !    There's  nothing  here 
"  But  languages,  and  sciences,  and  arts, 
"  Not  an  iota  of  nobility  ! 

"  Wo  cannot  give  our  names.    Take  back  the  paper. 

"  And  tell  the  bearer  there's  no  answer  for  him  • — 

"  That  is  the  lordly  way  of  saying  '  No.' 

"  But,  talking  of  subscriptions,  here  is  one 

"  To  which  your  lordship  may  affix  your  name. 

"  Rock.  Pray,  who's  the  object  1 

"  Tin.  A  most  worthy  man  ! 
u  A.  man  of  singular  deserts  ;  a  man, 
"  In  serving  whom,  your  lordship  will  serve  me,— 
u  Signor  Cantata. 

u  Roch.  He's  a  friend  of  yours  1 


Sceihe  TI.J 


THE  HUNCHBACK 


41 


Tin.  Oh,  no,  I  know  him  not !    I've  not  that  pleasure, 
*  But  Lady  Dangle  knows  him ;  she's  his  friend. 
"  He  will  oblige  us  with  a  set  of  concerts, 
"  Six  concerts  to  the  set. — The  set,  three  guineas. 
"  Your  lordship  will  subscribe  1 
"  Rock.  Oh,  by  all  means  ! 

"  Tin.  How  many  sets  of  tickets  1    Two  at  least. 
"  You'll  like  to  take  a  friend  ?    I'll  set  you  down 
w  Six  guineas  to  Signor  Cantata's  concerts." 
And  now,  my  lord,  we'll  to  him, — then  we'll  walk. 

Rock.  Nay,  I  would  wait  the  lady's  answer. 

Tin.  Wait! 
Take  an  excursion  to  the  country ;  let 
Her  answer  wait  for  you. 

Rock.  Indeed  ! 

Tin.  Indeed. 
Befits  a  lord  naught  like  indifference. 
Say  an  estate  should  fall  to  you,  you'd  take  it, 
As  it  concerned  more  a  stander-by 
Than  you.    As  you're  a  lord,  be  sure  you  ever 
Of  that  make  little,  other  men  make  much  of; 
Nor  do  the  thing  they  do,  but  right  contrary. 
Where  the  distinction  else,  'twixt  them  and  you  1 

[Exeunt,  L. 

Scene  II. — An  Apartment  in  Master  IleartwcWs  House. 
Table  and  two  chairs,  placed,  a  little  out  of  the  centre  to- 
wards L. 

Waster  Walter  discovered,  seated  l.  of  table,  looking 
through  title-deeds  and  papers. 

Wal.  So  falls  out  every  thing  as  I  would  have  it, 
Exact  in  place  and  time.    This  lord's  advances 
Receives  she, — as,  I  augur,  in  the  spleen 
Of  wounded  pride  she  will, — my  course  is  clear. 
She  comes — all's  well — the  tempest  rages  still. 

Julia  enters,  l.,  and  paces  the  room  in  a  state  of  high  ex* 
citemcnt. 

Jul.  What  have  my  eyes  to  do  with  water  ]  Fire 
Becomes  them  better  f  Crosses,  n. 

Wal  True. 


12 


THE  HINCKBACIC. 


[Act  III 


Jul.  Yet,  must  I  weep 
To  be  so  monitor'* i,  and  by  a  man  ! 
A  man  that  was  my  slave  !  whom  I  have  seen 
Kneel  at  my  feet  from  morn  till  noon,  content 
With  leave  to  only  gaze  upon  my  face,  [Cresses,  L. 

"  And  tell  me  what  he  read  there, — till  the  page 
"  I  knew  by  heart,  I  'gan  to  doubt  I  knew, 
"Emblazoned  by  the  comment  of  his  tongue!" 
And  he  to  lesson  me  !    Let  him  come  here 
On  Monday  week !    He  ne'er  leads  me  to  church  ! 
"  I  would  not  profit  by  his  rank  or  wealth, 
"  Tho'  kings  might  call  him  cousin,  for  their  sake  !" 
I'll  show  him  I  have  pride  !  [Crosses,  r. 

Wal.  You're  very  right  ! 

Jul.  Ke  would  have  had  to-day  our  wedding  day  ! 
I  fixed  a  month  from  this.    He  prayed  and  prayed  :- 
I  dropped  a  week.    He  prayed  and  prayed  the  more  . — 
I  dropped  a  second  one.    Still  more  he  prayed  ! 
And  1  took  off  another  week, — and  now 
I  have  his  leave  to  wed  or  not  to  wed  ! 
Jfle'll  see  that  I  have  pride! 

}Y«L  And  so  he  ought. 

Jul.  Qh  !  for  some  way  to  bring  him  to  my  feet ! 
But  he  should  lie  there  !    Why,  'twill  go  abroad, 
That  he  has  cast  me  off.    That  there  should  live 
The  man  could  say  so  !    Qr  that  I  should  live 
To  be  the  leavings  of  a  man  j  [Crosses,  R 

Wal.  Thy  case 
I  own  a  hard  one. 

Jul.  Hard  !    'Twill  drive  me  mad  ! 
His  wealth  and  title!    1  refused  a  lord — 
I  did  !  that  privily  implored  my  hand — 
And  never  cared  to  tell  him  on't  !     So  much 
I  hate  him  now,  that  lord  should  not  in  vain 
Implore  my  hand  again  ! 

Wal.  You'd  give  it  him  1  [Uj)  from  chaw, 

Jul.  I  would. 

Wal.  You'd  wed  that  lord  ]  [Advances,  l 

Jul.  (r.)  That  lord  I'd  wed  ; — or  any  other  lord, — 

Only  to  show  him,  I  could  wed  above  him  ! 
Wal.  Give  me  your  hand  and  word  to  that. 
Jul.  There!  Take 

My  hand  an  1  word  | 


SCEWE  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


43 


Wed.  That  lord  hath  offered  you 
His  hand  again. 
Jul.  He  has  1 

Wal.  Your  father  knows  it :  he  apprctes  of  'him. 
There  are  the  title-deeds  of  the  estates,     [Points  to  table 
Sent  for  my  jealous  scrutiny.    All  sound, — 
No  Haw,  or  speck,  that  e'en  the  lynx-eyed  law 
Itself  could  find.    A  lord  of  many  lands  ! 
In  Berkshire  half  a  county ;  and  the  same 
In  Wiltshire,  and  in  Lancashire  !  Across 
The  Irish  Sea,  a  principality  ! 
And  not  a  rood  with  bond  or  lien  on  it ! 
Wilt  give  that  lord  a  wife  1    Wilt  make  thyself 
A  countess  1    Here's  the  proffer  of  his  hand. 

[Shows  her  a  letter 
Write  thou  content,  and  wear  a  coronet ! 

Jul.  [Eagerly.]  Give  me  the  paper. 

Wal.  There  !    Here's  pen  and  ink. 
[Goes  up  l.  of  table  and  lays  the  letter  down  for  her  to  sign. 
Sit  down.  [Points  to  chair  n.  of  table.]  Why  do  you  pause  ] 

A  flourish  of 
The  pen,  and  you're  a  countess. 

Jul.  "  My  poor  brain 
"  Whirls  round  and  round  !"    I  would  not  wed  him  now 
Were  he  more  lowly  at  my  feet  to  sue 
Than  e'er  he  did! 

Wal.  Wed  whom] 

Jul.  Sir  Thomas  Clifford. 

Wal.  You're  right. 

Jul.  "His  rank  and  wealth  are  roots  to  doubt; 
u  And  while  they  lasted,  still  the  weed  would  gre  w, 
"  Howe'er  you  plucked  it.     No  !     That's  o'er — That's 
done  !" 

Was  never  lady  wronged  so  foul  a3  I !  [  Weeps. 

Wal.  Thou'rt  to  be  pitied. 

Jul.  [Aroused.]  Pitied!    Not  so  bad 
As  that. 

Wal.  Indeed  thou  art,  to  love  the  man 
That  spurns  thee  ! 

Jul.  Love  him  !    Love  !    If  hate  could  find 
A  word  more  harsh  than  its  own  name,  I'd  take  it, 
To  speak  the  love  I  bear  him  !  [  Weeps. 


44 


THE  HUNCHBACK 


[Act  111 


JVal.  Write  thy  own  name, 
And  show  how  near  akin  thy  hate's  to  hate. 
Jul.  [  Writes.]  'Tis  done  ! 
JVal.  'Tis  well !    I'll  come  to  you  anon. 

[Takes  the  paper  hastily,  and  exit,  r. 
Jul.  \Alonc.\  I'm  glad  'tis  done  !    I'm  very  glad  'ris 
done  ! 

I've  done  the  thing  I  should.    From  my  disgrace 

This  lord  shall  lift  me  'hove  the  reach  of  scorn — 

"  That  idly  wags  its  tongue,  where  wealth  and  state 

'  Need  onZy  beckon  to  have  crowds  to  laud  !" 

Then  how  the  tables  change  I    The  hand  he  spumed, 

His  betters  take  !    Let  me  remember  that  I 

I'll  grace  my  rank  !    I  will !    I'll  carry  it 

As  I  were  born  to  it !    I  warrant  none 

Shall  say  it  fits  me  not : — but  one  and  all 

Confess  I  wear  it  bravely,  as  I  ought ! 

And  he  shall  hear  it !  ay  !  and  he  shall  see  it  ! 

I  will  roll  by  him  in  an  equipage 

Would  mortgage  his  estate — but  he  shall  own 

His  slight  of  me  was  my  advancement !    Love  me  1 

He  never  loved  me  !  if  he  had,  he  ne'er 

Had  given  me  up !    Love's  not  a  spider's  web, 

But  fit  to  mesh  a  fly — that  you  can  break 

By  only  blowing  on't !    He  never  loved  me ! 

He  knows  not  what  love  is — or,  if  he  does, 

He  has  not  been  o'er  .chary  of  his  peace  ! 

And  that  he'll  find  when  I'm  another's  wife, 

Lost ! — lost  to  him  for  ever  !     Tears  again  ! 

Why  should  I  weep  for  him  %    Who  make  their  wotwi, 

Deserve  them  !    What  have  I  to  do  with  tears  1 

Enter  Helen,  l. 

Hel.  News  !  Julia,  news  ! 

Jul.  What !    Is't  about  Sir  Thomas  % 

Ilel.  Sir  Thomas,  say  you  ]  He's  no  more  Sir  Thop*wi  I 
That  cousin  lives,  as  heir  to  whom,  his  wealth 
And  title  came  to  him. 

Jul.  Was  he  not  dead  1 

Hel.  No  more  than  I  am  dead. 

Jul.  I  would  'twere  not  so.  [Crosses,  L 

Hel,  What  say  you,  Julia] 


SCEFE  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


45 


Jul.  Nothing! 

Hcl.  I  coukl  kiss 
That  cousin  !  coukl'nt  you,  Julia  % 

Jul.  Wherefore  1 

Hcl.  Why, 
For  coming  back  to  life  again,  as  'twere 
Upon  his  cousin  to  revenge  you 

Jul.  Helen  ! 

Hcl.  Indeed,  'tis  true.    With  what  a  sony  grace 
The  gentleman  will  bear  himself  without 
His  title  !    Master  Clifford  !    Have  you  not 
Some  token  to  return  him  %    Some  love-letter? 
Some  brooch'?    Some  pin  1    Some  anything  1    I'll  be 
Your  messenger,  for  nothing  but  the  pleasure 
Of  calling  him  plain  1  Master  Clifford.' 

Jul.  Helen ! 

Hcl.  Or  has  he  aught  of  thine  1    Write  to  him,  Julia, 
Demanding  it !    Do,  Julia,  if  you  love  me  ; 
And  I'll  direct  it  in  a  schoolboy's  hand, 
As  round  as  I  can  write,  '  To  Master  Clifford.' 

Jul.  Helen  ! 

Hcl.  I'll  think  of  fifty  thousand  ways 
To  mortify  him  !    I've  a  twentieth  cousin, 
k  care-for-naught  at  mischief.    Him  I'll  set 
With  twenty  other  madcaps  like  himself, 
To  walk  the  streets  the  traitor  most  frequents 
And  give  him  salutation  as  he  passes — 
How  do  you,  Master  Clifford  !' 

Jul.  [Highly  i?iccnscd.]  Helen  ! 

Hcl.  Bless  me ! 

Jul.  I  hate  you,  Helen  !  [  Crosses  to  a. 

Enter  Modus,  l. 

Modus.  Joy  for  you,  fair  lady  ! 
3ur  baronet  is  now  plain  gentleman, 
And  hardly  that — not  master  of  the  means 
To  bear  himself  as  such  !    The  kinsman  lives 
Whose  only  rumored  death  gave  wealth  to  him, 
And  title.    A  hard  creditor  he  proves, 
Who  keeps  strict  reckoning — will  have  interest, 
As  well  as  principal.    A  ruined  man 
Is  now  Sir  Thomas  Clifford. 


46 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  III 


Hcl.  I'm  g!ad  on't. 

Modus.  And  so  am  I.    A  scurvy  trick  it  was 
He  served  you,  Madam.    Use  a  lady  so  ! 
I  merely  bore  with  him.    I  never  liked  him. 

Hcl.  No  more  did  I.    No,  never  could  I  think 
He  looked  his  title. 

Modus.  No,  nor  acted  it, 
If  rightly  they  report.    "  He  ne'er  disbursed 
"  To  entertain  his  friends,  'tis  broadly  said, 
"  A  hundred  pounds  in  the  year."    He  was  most  poor, 
In  the  appointments  of  a  man  of  rank, 
Possessing  wealth  like  his.    "  His  horses,  hacks  ! 
"  His  gentleman,  a  footman!  and  his  footman, 
"  A  groom  !     The  sports  that  men  of  quality 
"  And  spirit  countenance,  he  kept  aloof  from, 
"  From  scruple  of  economy,  not  taste, — 
"  As  racing  and  the  like."    In  brief,  he  lacked 
Those  shining  points,  that,  more  than  name,  denote 
High  breeding;  and,  moreover,  was  a  man 
Of  very  shallow  learning. 

Jul.  Silence,  Sir ! 
For  shame ! 

Hcl.  Why,  Julia! 

Jul.  Speak  not  to  me  !    Poor  ! 
Most  poor  !    I  tell  you,  Sir,  he  was  the  making 
Of  fifty  gentlemen — each  one  of  whom 
Were  more  than  peer  for  thee  !    His  title,  Sir,  [Crosses,  c. 
Lent  him  no  grace  he  did  not  pay  it  back  ! 
Tho'  it  had  been  the  highest  of  the  high, 
He  would  have  looked  it,  felt  it,  acted  it, 
As  thou  could'st  ne'er  have  done  !     When  found  you  out 
You  liked  him  not  1    It  was  not  e'er  to-day  ! 
"  Or  that  base  spirit  I  must  reckon  yours, 
"  Which  smiles  were  it  would  scowl — can  stoop  to  hate, 
"  And  fear  to  show  it  I"    He  was  your  better,  Sir, 
And  is  ! — Ay,  is  !  though  stripped  of  rank  and  wealth, 
His  nature's  'bove  or  fortune's  love  or  spite, 
To  blazon  or  to  blur  it !  [Retires  up  c.  crosses  to  r. 

Modus.  [Crosses  to  Helen.]  I  was  told 
Much  to  disparage  him — I  know  not  wherefore. 

Hel.  And  so  was  I,  and  know  as  much  the  cause. 

[Modus  and  Helen  go  up,  c. — Julia  comes  down,  r, 


Srxvr  II  J 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


47 


Enter  Master  Walter,  with  parchments,  l. 

Wal.  Joy,  my  Julia  !  [Crosses  to  Iter 

Impatient  love  has  foresight !    Lo  you  here, 
The  marriage  deeds  filled  up,  except  a  blank 
To  write  your  jointure  !    "What  you  will,  my  girl ! 
Is  this  a  lover  ]    L  ook  !    Three  thousand  pounds 
Per  annum  for  your  private  charges  !    Ha  ! 
"  There's  pin  money  !    Is  this  a  lover  ]  Mark 
"  What  acres,  forests,  tenements,  are  taxed 
"  For  your  revenue  ;  and  so  set  apart, 
,;  That  finger  cannot  touca  them,  save  thine  own." 
Is  this  a  lover]    What  good  fortune's  thine  ! 
Thou  dost  not  speak  ;  but,  'tis  the  way  with  joy  ! 
With  richest  heart,  it  has  the  poorest  tongue  ! 

[Modus  comes  dozen  r.  of  Julia — Helen  remains  up,  c 

Modus.  What  great  good  fortune's  this  you  speak  of,  Sir] 

JVal.  A  coronet,  Master  Modus!    You  behold 
The  wife  elect,  Sir,  of  no  less  a  man, 
Than  the  new  Earl  of  Rochdale — heir  of  him 
That's  recently  deceased. 

"  Hel.  My  dearest  Julia, 
M  Much  joy  to  you  ! 

"  Modus.  All  good  attend  you,  Madam  !" 

Wal.  This  letter  brings  excuses  from  his  lordship, 
Whose  absence  it  accounts  for.    He  repairs 
To  his  estate  in  Lancashire,  and  thither 
We  follow. 

Jul.  When,  Sir  1 

Wal.  Now.    This  very  hour  ! 

Jul.  This  very  hour  !    Oh,  cruel,  fatal  haste  ! 

Wal.  Oh,  cruel,  fatal  haste  !    What  meanest  rf.ou  ? 
Have  I  done  wrong  to  do  thy  bidding,  then  1 
I've  done  no  more.    Thou  wast  an  off-cast  bride, 
And  would'st  be  an  affianced  one — thou  art  so  ! 
Thou'dst  have  the  slight  that  marked  thee  out  for  scorn 
Converted  to  a  means  of  Gracing  thee — 
It  is  so  !    "  If  our  wishes  come  too  soon, 
"  What  can  make  sure  of  welcome  1    In  my  zeal 
"  To  win  thee  thine,  thou  know'st,  at  any  time 
"  I'd  play  the  steed,  whose  will  to  serve  his  lord, 
**  With  his  last  breath  gives  his  last  bound  for  him ! 


48 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  III 


"  Since  only  noon  have  I  despatched  what  well 
u  Had  kept  a  brace  of  clerks,  and  more,  on  foot, — 
"  And  then,  perhaps,  had  been  to  do  again  ! — 
u  Not  finished,  sure,  complete — the  compact  firm, 
"  As  fate  itself  had  sealed  it! 

"  Jul.  Give  you  thanks  ! 
Tho'  'twere  my  death  !  rnv  death  ! 

"  Wal.  Thy  death  !  Indeed, 
"  For  happiness  like  this,  one  well  might  die  !" 
Take  thy  lord's  letter! 

Enter  Thomas  with  a  letter,  l. 

Well  1 

Tho.  This  letter,  Sir, 
The  gentleman  that  served  Sir  Thomas  Clifford — 
Or  him  that  was  Sir  Thomas — gave  to  me 
For  Mistress  Julia. 

Jul.  Give  it  me  !  [Throwing  away  the  one  she  holds 
Wal.  [Snatching  it.]  For  what  1  [Exit  Thomas,  L. 

Would'st  read  it  %    He's  a  bankrupt !  stripped  of  title, 
House,  chattels,  lands  and  all !    A  naked  bankrupt, 
With  neither  purse  nor  trust !    Would'st  read  his  letter  1 
A  beggar  !    Yea,  a  beggar  !  fasts,  unless 
He  dines  on  alms  !    How  durst  he  Bend  thee  a  letter  1 
"  A  fellow  cut  on  this  hand,  and  on  that, 
"  Bows,  and  is  cut  again,  and  bows  again  ! 
"  Who  pays  you  fifty  smiles  for  half  a  one — 
"  And  that  given  grudgingly"!"    To  send  you  a  letter  ! 
I  burst  with  choler  !    Thus  I  treat  his  letter  ! 

[  Tears  and  throws  it  on  the  ground. 
So !    I  was  wrong  to  let  him  ruffle  me  ; 
He  is  not  worth  the  spending  anger  on  ! 
I  prithee,  Master  Modus,  use  despatch, 
And  presently  make  ready  for  our  ride. 
You,  Helen,  to  my  Julia  look — a  change 
Of  dresses  will  suffice.    She  must  have  new  ones, 
Matches  for  her  new  state  !    Haste,  friends.  [Exeunt  Mo- 
dus and  Helen,  it.]  My  Julia  ! 
Why  star.d  you  poring  there  upon  the  ground  ] 
Time  flies.    Your  rise  astounds  you  1    Never  heed — 
f  u'J  pluy  my  lady  countess  like  a  queen  !      [Exeunt,  l 

END  OF  ACT  III. 


frcEirr  I.J 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  1, — A  Room  in  the  Earl  of  Rochdale* t> 

Enter  Helev,  c.  d. 

IIcl.  I'm  weary  wandering  from  room  to  room ; 
A  castle  after  all  is  but  a  house — 
The  dullest  one  when  lacking  company! 
Were  I  at  home  I  could  be  company 
Unto  myself.    "  I  see  not  Master  Walter. 
"  He's  ever  with  his  ward.    I  see  not  her. 
"  By  Master  W alter  will  she  bide,  alone. 
,:  My  father  stops  in  town.    I  can't  see  him. 
"  My  cousin  makes  his  books  his  company." 
I'll  go  to  bed  and  sleep.    No — I'll  stay  up 
And  plague  my  cousin  into  making  love  ! 
For,  that  he  loves  me,  shrewdly  I  suspect. 
How  dull  he  is  that  hath  not  sense  to  see 
AVhat  lies  before  him,  and  he'd  like  to  find  ! 
I'll  change  my  treatment  of  him — cross  him,  wher© 
Before  I  used  to  humour  him.    He  comes, 
Poring  upon  a  book. 

Enter  Modus,  l. 

What's  that  you  read  ] 

Modus.  Latin,  sweet  cousin. 

Hel.  'Tis  a  naughty  tongue 
I  fear,  and  teaches  men  to  lie. 

Modus.  To  lie ! 

Hel.  You  study  it.    You  call  your  cousin  sweet, 
And  treat  her  as  you  would  a  crab.    "  As  sour 
"  'T would  seem  you  think  her,  so  you  covet  her ! 
"  Why,  how  the  monster  stares,  and  looks  about !" 
You  construe  Latin,  and  can't  construe  that  ? 

Modus.  I  never  studied  women. 

Hel.  No  ;  nor  men. 
Else  would  you  better  know  their  ways  :  nor  read 
In  presence  of  a  lady.         [Strikes  the  boolcfmn  his 

Modus.  Right,  you  say, 
And  well  you  served  me,  cousin,  so  to  strike 
The  volume  from  my  hand.    I  own  my  fault. 


50 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


So  please  you, — may  I  pick  it  up  again  ] 
I'll  put  it  iu  my  pocket ! 

Hel.  Pick  it  up. 
He  fears  me  as  I  were  his  grandmother? 
What  is  the  hook? 

Modus.  'Tis  Ovid's  Art  of  Love. 

Hcl.  That  Ovid  was  a  fool ! 

Modus.  In  what  1 

Hel.  In  that  :  .  > 

To  call  that  thing  an  art,  which  art  is  none. 

Modus.  And  is  not  love  an  art  1 

Hcl.  Are  you  a  fool, 
As  well  as  Ovid  1    Love  an  art !    No  art 
But  taketh  time  and  pains  to  learn.    Love  cornea 
With  neither.    Is't  to  hoard  such  grain  as  that, 
You  went  to  College  1    Better  stay  at  home, 
And  study  homely  English. 

Modus.  Nay,  you  know  not 
The  argument. 

Hel.  I  don't  1    I  know  it  better 
Than  ever  Ovid  did  !    "  The  face, — the  form, — 
4  The  heart, — the  mind  we  fancy,  cousin  ;  that's 
"  The  argument !    Why,  cousin,  you  know  nothvcg/ 
Suppose  a  lady  were  in  love  with  thee, 
Could'st  thou,  by  Ovid,  cousin,  find  it  out  ? — 
Could'st  find  it  out,  was't  thou  in  love  thyself? 
Could  Ovid,  cousin,  teach  thee  to  make  love  ? 
I  could,  that  never  read  him.    You  begin 
With  melancholy  ;  then  to  sadness  ;  then 
To  sickness ;  then  to  dying — but  not  die  ! 
She  would  not  let  thee,  were  she  of  my  mind  ; 
She'd  take  compassion  on  thee.    Then  for  hope ; 
From  hope  to  confidence  ;  from  confidence 
To  boldness  ; — then  you'd  speak  ;  at  first  entreat ; 
Then  urge  ;  then  flout;  then  argue  ;  then  enforce  ; 
Make  prisoner  of  her  hand  ;  besiege  her  waist ; 
Threaten  her  lips  with  storming ;  keep  thy  word 
And  carry  her  !    My  sampler  'gainst  thy  Ovid  !  [Crosses,  E* 
Why,  cousin,  are  you  frightened,  that  you  stand 
As  you  were  stricken  dumb  %    The  case  is  clear 
You  are  no  soldier.    You'll  ne'er  win  a  battle. 
You  care  too  much  for  blows  ! 


Scene  1  ] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


51 


Modus.  You  wrong  me  there. 
At  School  I  was  the  champion  of  my  form, 
And  since  I  went  to  College — 

He?.  That  for  College  !  [Crosses,  r.,    fillips  with  herjh* 

Modus.  Nay,  hear  me  !  \&crs- 

He!.  We'll  ]  AVhat,  since  you  went  to  College  1 
f  You  know  what  men  are  set  clown  for  who  boast 

Of  their  own  bravery.    Go  on,  brave  cousin  !" 
What,  since  you  went  to  College  ?    Was  there  not 
One  Quentin  Halworth  there  1    You  know  there  was, 
And  that  he  was  your  master  ! 

Modus.  He  my  master  ! 
Thrice  was  he  worsted  by  me. 

IIcl.  Still  was  he 
Your  master. 

Modus.  He  allowed  I  had  the  best  ! 
Allowed  it,  mark  me  !    Nor  to  me  alone, 
But  twenty  I  could  name. 

HcL  And  mastered  you 
At  last  !    Confess  it,  cousin,  'tis  the  truth. 
A  proctor's  daughter  you  did  both  affect — 
Look  at  me  and  deny  it !    Of  the  twain 
She  more  affected  you; — I've  caught  you  now, 

Bold  cousin  !    Mark  you  !  Opportunity" 
An  opportunity  she  gave  you,  Sir, — 
Deny  it  if  you  can  ! — but  though  to  others, 
When  you  discoursed  of  her  you  were  a  flame, 
To  her  you  were  a  wick  that  would  not  light, 
Though  held  in  the  very  fire !     And  so  he  won  her— 
Won  her,  because  he  wooed  her  like  a  man, 
For  all  your  cufnngs,  cuffing  you  again 
With  most  usurious  interest.    Now,  Sir, 
Protest  that  you  are  valiant ! 

Modus.  Cousin  Helen ! 

Hel.  Well,  Sir] 

Modus.  The  tale  is  all  a  forgery  ! 
He  I.  A  forgery  ! 

Modus.  From  first  to  last :  ne'er  spoke  I 
To  a  proctor's  daughter  while  I  was  at  College. 

He!.  It  waa  a  scrivener's,  then — or  somebody's. 
But  what  concerns  it  whose  %    Enough,  you  loved  net, 
And,  shame  upon  you,  let  another  take  her ! 


52 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  IT 


Modus.  Cousin,  I  tell  you,  if  you'll  only  hear  me, 
T  loved  no  woman  while  I  was  at  College —  - 
Save  one,  and  her  I  fancied  ere  I  went  there. 

Hcl.  Indeed  !    Now  I'll  retreat,  if  he's  advancing. 
M  Comes  he  not  on  !    Oh,  what  a  stock's  the  man  !" 
Well,  cousin  1 

Modus.  Well  1    What  more  would'st  have  me  say  ] 
I  think  I've  said  enough. 

Hcl.  And  so  think  I. 
I  did  but.  jest  with  you.    You  are  not  angry  1 
Shake  hands  !    Why,  cousin,  do  you  squeeze  me  so  ] 

Modus.  [Letting  her  go.]  I  swear  I  squeezed  you  not  ! 

Hcl  You  did  not  ] 

Modus.  No, 

rn  die  if  i  did ! 

Hcl.  Why,  then  you  did  not,  cousin  : 
So  let's  shake  hands  again — [He  takes  her  hand  as  before.] 

Oh,  go,  and  now 
Read  Ovid  !    Cousin,  will  you  tell  me  one  thing  : 
Wore  lovers  ruffs  in  Master  Ovid's  time  1 
Behoved  him  teach  them,  then,  to  put  them  on  : — 
And  that  you  have  to  learn.    Hold  up  your  head  ! 
Why,  cousin,  how  you  blush.    Plague  on  the  ruff! 
I  cannot  give't  a  set.    You're  blushing  still ! 
'  Why  do  you  blush,  dear  cousin  1    So,  'twill  beat  me  ! 
"  I'll  give  it  up. 

"  Modus.  Nay,  prithee  don't — try  on  ! 

u  Hcl.  And  if  I  do,  I  fear  you'll  think  me  bold. 

"  Modus.  For  what  % 

11  Hcl.  To  trust  my  face  so  near  to  thine. 

"  Modus.  I  know  not  what  you  mean 

"Hcl.  I'm  glad  you  don't !" 
Cousin,  I  own  right  well  behaved  you  are, 
Most  marvellously  well  behaved  !     They've  bred 
You  well  at  College.    With  another  man 
My  lips  would  be  in  danger !    Hang  the  ruff! 

Modus.  Nay,  give  it  up,  nor  plague  thyself,  dear  cousin. 

Hcl.  Dear  fool  !  [Throws  the  ruff  on  the  grvund. 

I  swear  the  ruff  is  good  for  just 
As  little  as  its  master  !     There  ! — 'Tis  spoiled — 
You'll  have  to  get  another.    Hie  fivr  it, 
And  wear  it  ii  the  fashion  of  a  wisp, 


Scene  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


53 


Ere  I  adjust  it  for  thee  !    Farewell,  cousin  ! 

You've  need  to  study  Ovid's  Art  of  Love.  \Exit,  iu 

Modus.  Went  she  in  anger  1    I  will  follow  her, — 
No,  I  will  not !    Heigho  !    I  love  my  cousin  ! 
Oh,  would  that  she  loved  me !    Why  did  she  taunt  me 
With  backwardness  in  love  ]    What  could  she  mean  % 
Sees  she  I  love  her,  and  so  laughs  at  me, 
Because  I  lack  the  front  to  woo  her]  Nay, 
I'll  woo  her,  then  !    Her  lips  shall  be  in  danger, 
When  next  she  trusts  them  near  me  !    Looked  she  at  me 
To-day,  as  never  did  she  look  before  ! 
"  A  bold  heart,  Master  Modus  !    'Tis  a  saying, 
"  A  faint  one  never  won  fair  lady  yet. 
"  I'll  woo  my  cousin,  come  what  will  on't !    Yes  !" 

[Begins  to  read,  pauses,  and  thrusts  book  into  his  bosom. 
Hang  Ovid's  Art  of  Love  !    I'll  woo  my  cousin  !  [Exit,  r 

Scene  II. — The  Banqueting  Jloom  in  the  Earl  of  Rochdale's 
Mansion. 

Enter  Master  Walter  and  Julia,  l.  u.  e.  He  walks 
across  to  a  chair,  brings  it  forward  and  sits,  r.  c,  she 
stands,  l. 

Wal.  This  is  the  banqueting-room.    Thou  see'st  as  far 
It  leaves  the  last  behind,  as  that  excels 
The  former  ones.    All  is  proportion  here 
And  harmony  !    Observe  !    The  massy  pillars 
May  well  look  proud  to  bear  the  lofty  dome. 
"  You  mark  those  full-length  portraits  ]   They're  the  heads, 
"  The  stately  heads,  of  his  ancestral  line. 
"  Here  o'er  the  feast  they  aptly  still  preside  ! 
"Mark  those  medallions  !    Stand  they  forth  or  not 
"  In  bold  and  fair  relief]"    Is  not  this  brave  ] 

Jul.  [Abstractedly. \  It  is. 

Wal.  It  should  be  so.    To  cheer  the  blood 
That  flows  in  noble  veins,  is  made  the  feast 
That  gladdens  here  !    "  You  see  this  drapery  ] 
"  'Tis  richest  velvet !    Fringe  and  tassels,  gold  ! 
"  Is  not  this  costly  ] 

"  Jul.  Yes, 

"  Wal.  And  chaste,  the  while  ] 
««  Both  chaste  and  costly  ] 


54 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  IV 


"  Jul.  Yes." 

Wal.  [Gets  up  and  crosses  to  l.,  poirus  off,  l,  for  mirror.] 
Come  hither!    There's  a  mirror  for  yoa.    See  1 
One  sheet  from  floor  to  ceiling  !    Look  into  it. 
Salute  its  mistress  !    Dost  not  know  her  ] 

Jul.  [Sighing  deeply.]  Yes  ! 

"  Wal.  And  sigh  est  thou  to  know  her  1    Wait  unlii 
"  To-morrow,  when  the  banquet  shall  be  spread 
"  In  the  fair  hall ;  the  guests,  already  bid, 
"  Around  it ;  here,  her  lord  ;  and  there,  herself ; 
'*  Presiding  o'er  the  cheer  that  hails  him  bridegroom 
"  And  her  the  happy  bride  !    Dost  hear  me  1 

"Jul.  [Sighing  still  7norc  deeply.}  Yes." 

Wal.  These  are  the  day-rooms  only,  we  have  seen, 
For  public  and  domestic  uses  kept. 

I'll  show  you  now  the  lodging  rooms.     [Goes,  then  turnt 

and  observes  Julia  standing  perfectly  abstracted 
You're  tired. 

Let  it  be  till  after  dinner,  then.    Yet  one 

Vd  like  thee  much  to  see — the  bridal  chamber. 

[Julia  starts,  crosses  her  hands  upon  her  breast,  and  looks 
upwards. 

I  see  you're  tired  ;  yet  is  it  worth  the  viewing, 
If  only  for  the  tapestry  which  shows 

The  needle  like  the  pencil  glow  with  life.    [She  sits  on  the 

chair  Master  Walter  has  risen  from,  r.  c.    He  l. 
The  story's  of  a  page  who  loved  the  dame 
He  served — a  princess  ! — "  Love's  a  heedless  thing ! 
"  That  never  takes  account  of  obstacles ; 
"  Makes  plains  of  mountains,  rivulets  of  seas, 
"  That  part  it  from  its  wish.    So  proved  the  page, 
"  Who  from  a  state  so  lowly  looked  so  high, — 
M  But  love's  a  greater  lackwit  still  than  this. 
"  Say  it  aspires — that's  gain  !    Love  stoops — that's  loss  ! 
"  You  know  what  comes."    The  princess  loved  the  page. 
Shall  I  go  on,  or  here  leave  ofl"? 
Jul.  Go  on. 

Wal.  Each  side  of  the  chambei  shows  a  different  stage 
Of  this  fond  youth  and  fonder  lady's  love  * 

*  In  representation  the  passages  following  this  are  curtailed-— and 
the  scene  runs  as  fallows: — Master  Walter  continues — 


SCEKE  II. | 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


55 


"  First — no,  it  is  not  that. 

"  Jul.  Oh,  recollect ! 

"  Wal.  And  yet  it  is  ! 

"  Jul.  Nd  doubt  it  is.    What  is't  % 

u  Wal.  He  holds  to  her  a  salver,  with  a  cup : 
"  His  cheek  more  mantling  with  his  passion,  than 
,:The  cup  with  the  ruby  wine.    She  heeds  him  not, 
"For  too  great  heed  of  him; — but  seems  to  hold 
"  Debate  betwixt  her  passion  and  her  pride, 
"  That's  like  to  lose  the  day.    You  read  it  in 
"  Her  vacant  eye,  knit  brow,  and  parted  lips, 
"  Which  speak  a  heart  too  busy  all  within 
"  To  note  what's  done  without.    Like  you  the  tale  1 

"  Jul.  I  list  to  every  word. 

"  Wal.  The  next  side  paints 
"  The  page  upon  his  knee.    He  has  told  his  tale; 
"  And  found  that,  when  he  lost  his  heart,  he  played 
"  No  losing  game  ;  but  won  a  richer  one  ! 
"  There  may  you  read  in  him,  how  love  would  seem 
"  Most  humble  when  most  bold, — you  question  which 
'*  Appears  to  kiss  her  hand — his  breath  or  lips  ! 
"  In  her  you  read  how  wholly  lost  is  she 
"  Who  trusts  her  heart  to  love.    Shall  I  give  o'er  1 

"  Jul.  Nay,  tell  it  to  the  end.    Is't  melancholy  % 

"  Wal.  To  answer  that  would  mar  the  story. 

"Jul.  Right. 

"  Wal.  The  third  side  now  we  come  to. 
"  Jul.  What  shows  that  1 

"  Wal.  The  page  and  princess  still.    But  stands  her 
sire 

"  Between  them.    Stern  he  grasps  his  daughter's  arm, 
"  Whose  eyes  like  fountains  play  ;  while  through  her  tears 

Wal.  The  first  side  paints  their  passion  in  the  dawn — 
In  the  next  side  'tis  shining  open  day — 
In  the  third  there's  clouding, — I  but  touch  on  these 
To  make  a  long  tale  brief,  and  bring  thee  to 
The  laut  s:'de. 

Jul.  What  shows  that  ? 
Wal.  The  fate  of  love 
That  will  not  be  advised. — The  scene  s  a  dungeon  ; 
It's  tenuntis  the  page — he  lies  in  fetters. 

Jul.  Hard! 

Hard  aa  the  steel,  the  hands  that  put  them  on  ! 


66 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  I?, 


M  Her  passion  shines,  as,  through  the  fountain  drops, 
1  The  sun  !    His  minions  crowd  around  the  page ! 
'  They  drag  him  to  a  dungeon. 
"  Jul.  Hapless  youth  ! 

"  Wal.  Hapless,  indeed,  that's  twice  a  captive  !  heut 
"  And  body  both  in  bonds.    But  that's  the  chain, 
"  Which  balance  cannot  weigh,  rule  measure,  touch 
"  Define  the  texture  of,  or  eye  detect, 
"  That's  forged  by  the  subtle  craft  of  love  ! 
"  No  need  to  tell  you  that  he  wears  it.  Such 
"  The  cunning  of  the  hand  that  plied  the  loom, 
"  You've  but  to  mark  the  straining  of  his  eye 
"  To  feel  the  coil  yourself! 

"  Jul.  I  feel't  without ! 
"  You've  finished  with  the  third  side  ;  now  the  fourth? 

"  Wal,  It  brings  us  to  a  dungeon,  then. 

'*  Jul.  The  page, 
"  The  thrall  of  love,  more  than  the  dungeon's  thrall, 
"  Is  there  1 

"  Wal,  He  is.    Pie  lies  in  fetters." 

Jul,  Hard!— 
Hard  as  the  steel,  the  hands  that  put  them  on  ! 

Wal.  Some  one  unrivets  them. 

Jul.  The  princess  ]    'Tis  ! 

Wal.  It  is  another  page. 

Jul,  It  is  herself! 

Wal.  Her  skin  is  fair ;  and  his  is  berry-brown. 
His  locks  are  raven  black  ;  and  hers  are  gold. 

Jul,  Love's  cunning  at  disguises  !  spite  of  locks, 
Skin,  vesture, — it  is  she,  and  only  she  ! 
What  will  not  constant  woman  do  for  love, 
That's  loved  with  constancy  !    Set  her  the  task, 
Virtue  approving,  that  will  baffle  her  ! 
O'ertax  her  stooping,  patience,  courage,  wit ! 
My  life  upon  it,  'tis  the  princess  self, 
Transformed  into  a  page  ! 

Wal,  The  dungeon  dooi 
Stands  open,  and  you  see  beyond — 

Jul,  Her  father ! 

Wal.  No  ;  a  steed. 

Jul,  [Starting  uj).\  Oh,  welcome  steed, 
My  heart  b>unds  at  the  thought  of  thee  !    Thou  corr?'st 


SCEWE  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK 


57 


To  bear  the  page  from  oonds  to  liberty. 
What  else  ? 

Wal.  [Rising.]  The  story's  told. 

Jul.  Too  briefly  told  ! 
Oh,  happy  princess,  that  had  wealth  and  state 
To  lay  them  down  for  love  !    "  Whose  constant  lore 
"  Appearances  approved,  not  falsified  ! 
"  A  winner  in  thy  loss  as  well  as  gain." 

Wal.  Weighs  love  so  much  1 

Jul.  What  would  you  weigh  'gainst  love 
That's  true  1    Tell  me  with  what  you'd  turn  the  scale  % 
Yea,  make  the  index  waver  %    Wealth  1    A  feather  ! 
Rank  %    Tinsel  against  bullion  in  the  balance  ! 
The  love  of  kindred  ?    That  to  set  'gainst  love  ! 
Friendship  comes  nearest  to 't ;  but  put  it  in, 
And  friendship  kicks  the  beam  ! — weigh  nothing  'gauist  it ! 
Weigh  love  against  the  world  ! 

"  Yet  are  they  happy  that  have  naught  to  say  to  it. 

"  Wal.  And  such  a  one  art  thou.    Who  wisely  wed, 
"  Wed  happily.    The  love  thou  speak'st  of, 
"  A  flower  is  only,  that  its  season  has, 
"  Which  they  must  look  to  see  the  withering  of, 
"  Who  pleasure  in  its  budding  and  its  bloom! 
"  But  wisdom  is  the  constant  evergreen 
"  Which  lives  the  whole  year  through !    Be  that  youE 
flower ! 

Enter  a  Servant,  l. 

Well  % 

Ser.  My  Lord's  secretary  is  without. 
He  brings  a  letter  for  her  ladyship, 
And  craves  admittance  to  her. 

Wal.  Show  him  in. 

Jul.  No  J 

Wal.  Thou  must  see  him.    To  show  slight  to  him, 
Were  sliditingf  him  that  sent  him.    Show  him  in  ! 

[Exit  Servant,  u 

Some  errand  proper  for  thy  private  ear, 
Besides  the  letter.    What's  the  matter  1  Wny 
This  paleness  and  this  trembling  ]    Mark  me,  Julia ! 
If,  from  these  nuptials  which  thyself  invited — 
Which,  at  thy  seeking,  came — thou  would'st  be  freed. 


58 


THE  HUNCHBACK 


[Act  17 


Thou  hast  gone  too  far  !    Receding  were  disgiace, 

Sooner  than  see  thee  suffer  which,  the  hearts 

That  love  thee  most,  would  wish  thee  dead  !    Reflect ! 

Take  thought !    Collect  thyself  !    With  dignity 

Receive  thy  bridegroom's  messenger  !  for  sure 

As  davvns  to-morrow's  sun,  to-morrow  night 

Sees  thee  a  wedded  bride !  [Exit,  L. 

Jul.  \ Alone]  A  wedded  bride  % 
Is  it  a  dream  ]    "  Is  it  a  phantasm  1  'Th 
"  Too  horrible  for  reality  !  for  aught  else 
"  Too  palpable  !"    Oh,  would  it  were  a  dream  ! 
How  would  I  bless  the  sun  that  waked  me  from  it ! 
"  I  perish  !     Like  some  desperate  mariner 
"  Impatient  of  a  strange  and  hostile  land, 
"  Who  rashly  hoists  his  sail,  and  puts  to  sea, 
"  And  being  fast  on  reefs  and  quicksands  borne, 
"  Essays  in  vain  once  more  to  make  the  land, 
"  Whence  wind  and  current  drive  him" — I  am  wrecked  ■ 
By  mine  own  act !    What !  no  escajoe  ?  no  hope  ? 
None  !    I  must  e'en  abide  these  hated  nuptials  ! 
Hated  ! — Ay  !  own  it,  and  then  curse  thyself ! 
That  mad'st  the  bane  thou  loathest — for  the  love 
Thou  bear'st  to  one,  who  never  can  be  thine  ! 
Yes — love  !    Deceive  thyself  no  longer.  False 
To  say  'tis  pity  for  his  fall, — "  respect, 
"  Engendered  by  a  hollow  world's  disdain, 
"  Which  hoots  whom  fickle  fortune  cheers  no  more  ! 
"  'Tis  none  of  these  :"  'tis  love — and  if  not  love, 
Why,  then,  idolatry  !    Ay,  that's  the  name 
To  speak  the  broadest,  deepest,  strongest  passion, 
That  ever  woman's  neart  was  borne  away  by  ! 
He  comes  !    Thou'dst  play  the  lady, — play  it  now  ! 

Enter  Servant,  l.,  conducting  Clifford,  plainly  attired,  a$ 
Earl  of  Rochdale's  Secretary. 

Ser.  His  lordship's  secretary.  [Exit,  it. 

Jul.  Speaks  he  not] 
Or  doco  he  wait  for  orders  to  unfold 
His  business?    Stopped  his  business  till  I  spoke, 
I'd  hold  ny  peace  forever  ! 

f  Clifford  A  tech,  presenting  a  letter, 

Does  he  kneel  ] 


Scene  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


69 


A  lady  am  I  to  my  heart's  content ! 

Could  he  unmake  me  that  which  claims-  his  knee, 

I'd  kneel  to  him, — I  would  !    I  would  !  — Your  will  ? 

Glif,  This  letter  from  my  lord. 

Jul.  Oh,  fate  !  who  speaks  ] 

CI  If.  The  secretary  of  my  lord.  [Rises, 

Jul.  I  breathe  ! 
I  could  have  sworn  'twas  he  ! 

[Makes  an  effort  to  look  at  Mm,  but  is  unable. 
So  like  the  voice — 

I  dare  not  look,  lest  there  the  form  should  stand  ! 

How  came  he  by  that  voice  1    'Tis  Clifford's  voice, 

If  ever  Clifford  spoke  !    "  My  fears  come  back" — 

Clifford  the  secretary  of  my  lord  ! 

Fortune  hath  freaks,  but  none  so  mad  as  that ! 

It  cannot  be  ! — it  should  not  be  ! — a  look, 

And  all  were  set  at  rest. 

[Tries  to  look  at  him  again,  but  cannct. 

So  strong  my  fears, 

Dread  to  confirm  them  takes  away  the  power 
To  try  and  end  them  !    Come  the  worst,  I'll  look. 

[She  tries  again,  and  is  again  unequal  to  the  task. 
I'd  sink  before  him,  if  I  met  his  eye ! 

Glif.  Wilt  please  your  ladyship  to  take  the  letter  1 

Jul.  There  Clifford  speaks  again  !    Not  Clifford's  breath 
Could  more  make  Clifford's  voice  !    Not  Clifford's  tongue 
And  lips  more  frame  it  into  Clifford's  speech  ! 
A  question,  and  'tis  over  !    Know  I  you  % 

Glif.  Reverse  of  fortune,  lady,  changes  friends : 
It  turns  them  into  strangers.    What  I  am, 
I  have  not  always  been  ! 

Jul.  Could  I  not  name  you  ? 

Cljf.  If  your  disdain  for  one,  perhaps  too  bold 
When  hollow  fortune  called  him  favourite, — 
"  Now  by  her  fickleness  perforce  reduced 
"  To  take  an  humble  tone,"  would  suffer  you — 

Jul.  I  might  % 

Glif.  You  might ! 

Jul.  Oh,  Clifford  !  is  it  you  % 

Clif.  Your  answer  t  :>  my  lord.  [Gives  the  letter 

Jul.  Your  lord  ! 
Clif.  Wilt  write  it 


so 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


Or,  will  it  please  you  send  a  verbal  one  1 
I'll  bear  it  faithfully. 

Jul  You'll  bear  it  1 

Clif.  Madam, 
Your  pardon,  but  my  haste  is  somewhat  urgent. 
My  lord's  impatient,  and  to  use  despatch 
Were  his  repeated  orders. 

Jul  Orders]    Well,  [Takes  letter, 

I'll  read  the  letter,  Sir.    'Tis  right  you  mind 
His  lordship's  orders.    They  are  paramount  ! 
Nothing  should  supersede  them  ! — stand  beside  them  ! 
They  merit  all  your  care,  and  have  it !  Fit, 
Most  fit  they  should  !    Give  me  the  letter,  Sir. 

Clif.  You  have  it,  Madam. 

Jul.  So  !    How  poor  a  thing 
I  look!  so  lost,  while  he  is  all  himself! 
Have  I  no  pride]  [She:  rings  the  Servant  enters,  r« 

Paper,  and  pen  and  ink  !  [Exit  Servant,  r. 

If  he  can  freeze,  'tis  time  that  I  grow  cold  ! 
I'll  read  the  letter. 

[  Opens  it,  and  holds  it  as  about  to  read  it. 
Mind  his  orders  !    So  ! 
Quickly  he  fits  his  habits  to  his  fortunes  ! 
He  serves  my  lord  with  all  his  will !    His  heart's 
In  his  vocation.    So  !    Is  this  the  letter  1 
'Tis  upside  down — and  here  I'm  poring  on't ! 
Most  fit  I  let  him  see  me  play  the  fool ! 
Shame  !    Let  me  be  myself! 

[Servant  enters,  r.,  with  materials  for  writing. 

A  table,  sir, 
"  And  chair.'* 

[The  Servant  brings  a  table  and  chair,  R.,  and  goes  out. 

She  sits  awhile,  vacantly  gazing  on  the  letter-— then  . 

looks  at  Clifford. 
How  plainly  shows  his  humble  suit ! 
It  fits  not  him  that  wears  it !    I  have  wronged  him ! 
He  can't  be  happy — does  not  look  it — is  not ' 
That  eye  which  reads  the  ground  is  argument 
Enough  !    He  loves  me.    There  I  let  him  stand, 
And  I  am  sitting  !  [Rises  and  points  to  a  chair, 

Pray  you,  take  a  chair.    [lie  bows  as  acknowledging,  and 

detzlining  the  honor. — She  looks  at  him  awhile. 


6CK.NI  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


61 


Clifford,  why  don't  you  speak  to  me  1  \  Weeps 

Clif.  I  trust 
You're  happy. 

Jul.  Happy  !    Very,  very  happy  ! 
You  see  I  weep,  I  am  so  happy  !  Tears 
Are  signs,  you  know,  of  naught  but  happiuess 
When  first  I  saw  you,  little  did  I  look 
To  be  so  happy  !    Clifford  ! 

Clif.  Madam? 

Jul.  Madam  ! 
[  call  thee  Clifford,  and  thou  call'st  me  madam  ! 

Clif.  Such  the  address  my  duty  stints  me  to. 
Thou  art  the  wife  elect  of  a  proud  Earl — 
Whose  humble  secretary  sole,  am  I. 

Jul.  Most  right !    I  had  forgot !    I  thank  you,  Sir, 
For  so  reminding  me  ;  and  give  you  joy, 
That  what,  I  see,  had  been  a  burthen  to  you, 
Is  fairly  off' your  hands. 

Clif.  A  burthen  to  me  ! 
"  Mean  you  yourself?    Are  you  that  burthen,  Julia?" 
Say  that  the  sun's  a  burthen  to  the  earth  ! 
Say  that  the  blood's  a  burthen  to  the  heart ! 
Say  health's  a  burthen,  peace,  contentment,  joy, 
Fame,  riches,  honours  ;  every  thing  that  man 
Desires,  and  gives  the  name  of  blessing  to  !-  - 
E'en  such  a  burthen,  Julia  were  to  mo 
Had  fortune  let  me  wear  her. 

Jul.  [Aside.]  On  the  brink 
Of  what  a  precipice  I'm  standing!    Back  ! 
Back  !  while  the  faculty  remains  to  do't ! 
A  minute  longer,  not  the  whirlpool's  self 
More  sure  to  suck  thee  down  !    One  effort !  [S7£s.]  There! 

[Recovers  Iter  self-possession,  takes  up  the  letter  and  reads. 
To  wed  to-morrow  night !    Wed  whom  1    A  man 
Whom  I  can  never  love  !    1  should  before 
Have  thought  of  that.    To-morrow  night !     This  hour 
To-morrow  !    How  I  tremble!    "  Happy  bands 
"  To  which  mv  heart  such  freezing  welcome  oives, 
"  As  sends  an  ague  through  me  !"    At  what  means 
Will  not  the  desperate  snatch  !     What's  honour's  prica  ? 
Nor  friends,  nor  lovers, — no,  nor  life  itself! 
Clifford  !    This  moment  leave  me  ! 


62 


THE  HUNCHBACK 


[Act  IV 


[  Clifford  retires  up  the  stage,  out  of  her  sight, 

Is  he  gone  1 

Oh,  docile  lover  !    Do  his  mistress'  wish 

That  went  against  his  own  !    Do  it  so  soon  ! — 

Ere  weli  'twas  uttered  !    No  good-bye  to  her ! 

No  word  t  no  look  !    'Twas  best  that  so  he  went ! 

Alas,  the  strait  of  her,  who  owns  that  best, 

Which  last  she'd  wish  were  done  !    What's  left  me  now  t 

To  weep  {    To  weep  ! 

\ Leans  her  head  vpon  her  arm,  which  rests  upon  the  desk 
— her  other  arm  hanging  listless  at  her  side.  Clifford 
comes  down  the  stage,  looks  a  moment  at  her,  approach- 
es her,  and  kneeling,  takes  her  hand. 

Clif.  My  Julia  ! 

Jul.  Here  again  1 
Up  !  up  !    By  all  thy  hopes  of  Heaven,  go  hence  ! 
To  stay's  perdition  to  me  !    Look  you,  Clifford  ! 
Were  there  a  grave  where  thou  art  kneeling  now 
I'd  walk  into't,  and  be  inearthed  alive, 
Ere  taint  should  touch  my  name  !     Should  some  one  come 
And  see  thee  kneeling  thus  !    Let  go  my  hand  ! 
Remember,  Clifford,  I'm  a  promised  bride — 
And  take  thy  arm  away  !    It  has  no  eight 
To  clasp  my  waist !    Judgo  you  so  poorly  of  me, 
As  think  I'll  suffer  this  ?    My  honour,  Sir  ! 

[She  breaks  from  him,  quitting  her  seat, 
I'm  glad  you've  forced  me  to  respect  myself — 
You'll  find  that  I  can  do  so  ! 

Clif.  "  I  was  bold— 
4  Forgetful  of  your  station  and  my  own." 
There  was  a  time  I  held  your  hand  unchid  ! 
There  was  a  time  I  might  have  clasped  your  waist— 
I  had  forgot  that  time  was  past  and  gone  ! 
I  pray  you,  pardon  me  ! 

Jul.  [Softened]  I  do  so,  Clifford. 

Clif.  I  shall  no  more  offend. 

Jul.  Make  sure  of  that. 
No  longer  is  it  fit  thou  keep'st  thy  post 
Ill's  lordship's  household.    Give  il  up  !    A  day— 
An  hour  7-emain  not  in  it ! 

Clif  Wherefore  ? 

Jul.  Live 


Scene  II .] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


63 


In  the  same  house  with  me,  and  I  another's  1 

Put  miles,  put  leagues  between  us  !    The  same  land 

Should  not  contain  us.    "  Oceans  should  divide  us — 

"  With  barriers  of  constant  tempests — such 

"  As  manners  durst  not  tempt !"    Oh,  Clifford  !  Clifford  I 

Rash  was  the  act,  so  light  that  gave  me  up, 

That  stung  a  woman's  pride,  and  drove  her  mad — 

Till,  in  hei  frenzy,  she  destroyed  her  peace  ! 

Oh,  it  was  rashly  done  !    Had  you  reproved — 

Expostulated, — had  you  reasoned  with  me — 

Tried  to  find  out  what  was  indeed  my  heart, — 

I  would  have  shown  it — you'd  have  seen  it.  All 

Had  been  as  naught  can  ever  be  again  ! 

Clf.  Lov'st  thou  me,  Julia  % 

Jul.  Dost  thou  ask  me,  Clifford  1 

Clif.  These  nuptials  may  be  shunned — 

Jul.  With  honour  1 

Clif.  Yes. 

Jul.  Then  take  me  !    Hold  ! — hear  me,  and  take  me, 
then  ! 

Let  not  thy  passion  he  my  counsellor  ! 
Deal  with  me,  Clifford,  as  my  brother.  Be 
The  jealous  guardian  of  my  spotless  name  ! 
Scan  thou  my  cause  as  'twere  thy  sister's  !  Let 
Thy  scrutiny  o'erlook  no  point  of  it, — 
And  turn  it  o'er,  not  once,  but  many  a  time  ; — 
That  flaw,  speck,  yea,  the  shade  of  one, — a  soil 
So  slight,  not  one  out  of  a  thousand  eyes 
Could  find  it  out, — may  not  escape  thee  ;  then 
Say  if  these  nuptials  can  be  shunned  with  honour! 
Clif.  They  can. 

Jul.  Then  take  me,  Clifford  !  [T/iey  embrace. 

Enter  Master  Walter,  r.  u.  e.,  comes  down,  K. 

Wal.  Ha  !    What's  this  ? 
Ha  !  treason  !    What !  my  baronet  that  was, 
My  secretary  now  !    Your  servant,  Sir  ! 
Is't  thus  you  do  the  pleasure  of  your  lord, — 
"  That  for  your  service,  feeds  you,  clothes  yoa,  pays  you  1 
"  Or  tak'st  thou  but  the  name  of  his  dependent  V* 
What's  here  ] — a  letter!  [Snatches  letter  from  table,  R.] 
Fifty  crowns  to  one 


64 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


LAcr  nr 


A  forgery  !    Pm  wrong.    Tt  is  his  hand.  , 
This  proves  thee  double  traitor  ! 

CI  if.  Traitor! 

Jul.  Nay, 

Control  thy  wrath,  good  Master  "Walter.    Do, — 
And  I'll  persuade  him  to  go  hence. 

[Master  Walter  retires  up  the  stage,  R.  with  letter,  and 
remains  there  till  Clifford  is  off. 

I  see 

For  me  thou  bearest  this,  and  thank  thee,  Clifford ! 
As  thou  hast  truly  shown  thy  heart  to  me, 
So  truly  I  to  thee  have  opened  mine  ! 
Time  flies  !    To-morrow,  if  thy  love  can  find 
A  way,  such  as  thou  said'st,  for  my  enlargement, — 
By  any  means  thou  can'st,  apprize  me  of  it, — 
And,  soon  as  shown,  I'll  take  it. 
Wal.  (r.)  Is  he  gone  1 

Jul.  He  is — this  moment !    If  thou  covet'st  me, 
Win  me  and  wear  me  !    May  I  trust  thee  ?  Oh! 
If  that's  thy  soul,  that's  looking  through  thine  eyes, 
Thou  lov'st  me,  and  I  may ! — I  sicken,  lest 
I  never  see  thee  more  ! 

Clif.  As  life  is  mine, 
The  ring  that  goes  thy  wedding  finger  on, 
No  hand  save  mine  shall  place  there ! 

Wal.  Lingers  he  1 

Jul.  For  my  sake,  now  away  !    "  And  yet  a  word. 
'*  By  all  thy  hopes  most  dear,  be  true  to  me  ! 
"  Go,  now  !    Yet  stay  !"    Oh,  Clifford,  while  you're  herev 
I'm  like  a  bark  distressed  and  compassless, 
That  by  a  beacon  steers ; — when  you're  away, 
That  bark  alone,  and  tossing  miles  at  sea  ! 
Now  go  !    Farewell !    My  compass — beacon — land  ! 
When  shall  mine  eyes  be  blessed  with  thee  again  ! 

Clif.  Farewell !  [Exit,  l. 

Jul.  Art  gone  ?    All's  care  !    All's  chance — all's  dark- 
ness !  [Is  led  off  by  Master  Walter,  B, 


END  OF  ACT  IV. 


Scot  I.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


S5 


ACT    V . 

Scene  I. — An  Apartment  in  the  Earl  of  Rochdale's. 
Enter  Helen  and  Fathom,  l. 

Fath.  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  this — if  she  mar- 
ries this  lord,  she'll  break  her  heart !  I  wish  you  could 
see  her,  madam.    Poor  lady  ! 

Hel.  How  looks  she,  prithee  1 

Fath.  Marry,  for  all  the  world  like  a  dripping  wet  cam- 
bric handkerchief!  She  has  no  colour,  nor  strength  in 
her;  and  does  nothing  but  weep — poor  lady! 

Hel.  Tell  me  again,  what  said  she  to  thee  ] 

Fath.  She  offered  me  all  she  was  mistress  of,  to  take  the 
letter  to  Master  Clifford.  She  drew  her  purse  from  her 
pocket — her  ring  from  her  finger — her  ear-rings  from  her 
ears  ;  but  I  was  forbidden,  and  refused.  And  now  I'm 
sorry  for  it !    Poor  lady  ! 

Hel.  Thou  should'st  be  sorry.  Thou  hast  a  hard  heart, 
Fathom. 

Fath.  I,  madam  !  My  heart  is  as  soft  as  a  woman's. 
You  should  have  seen  me  when  I  came  out  of  her  cham- 
ber— poor  lady ! 

Hel.  Did  you  cry  ] 

Fath.  No  ;  but  I  was  as  near  it  as  possible.  I  a  hard 
heart !  I  would  do  anything  to  serve  her,  poor  sweet  la- 
dy! 

Hel.  Will  you  take  her  letter,  asks  she  you  again  % 
Fath.  No — I  am  forbid, 

Hel.  Will  you  help  Master  Clifford  to  an  interview  with 
her  1 

Fath.  No — Master  Walter  would  find  it  out. 

Hel.  Will  you  contrive  to  get  me  into  her  chamber  1 

Fath.  No — you  would  get  me  into  mischief. 

Hel.  Go  to  !  You  would  do  nothing  to  serve  her.  You 
a  soft  heart !  You  have  no  heart  at  all !  You  feel  not  for 
her! 

Fath.  But  I  tell  you  I  do — and  good  right  I  have  to  feel 
for  her.    I  have  been  in  love  myself. 
Hel.  With  your  dinner  ! 

Fath.  I  would  it  had  been  !    My  pain  would  have  soon 


66 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  V. 


been  over,  and  at  little  cost.   A  fortune  I  squandered  upon 

her  ! — trinkets — trimmings  treatings  what  swallowed 

up  the  revenue  of  a  whole  year  !  W  asn't  I  in  love  1  Six 
months  1  courted  her,  and  a  dozen  crowns,  all  but  one, 
did  I  disburse  for  her  in  that  time  !  Wasn't  I  in  love  1 
An  hostler — a  tapster — and  a  constable,  courted  her  at  the 
same  time,  and  1  offered  to  cudgel  the  whole  three  of  them 
for  her  !     Wasn't  L  in  loVe  ] 

lid.  You  are  a  valiant  man,  Fathom. 

Fath.  Am  not  I  1  Walks  not  the  earth  the  man  I  am 
afraid  of  ! 

Utl.  Fear  you  not  Master  Walter  ? 

Fath.  No." 

Hel.  You  do. 

Fath.  I  don't. 

Hel.  I'll  prove  it  to  you.  You  see  him  breaking  your 
young  mistress's  heart,  and  have  not  the  manhood  to 
stand  by  her. 

Fulh.  What  could  I  do  for  her? 

Hel.  Let  her  out  of  prison.    It  were  the  act  of  a  man 

Fath.  That  man  am  I  ! 

Hcl.  Well  said,  brave  Fathom  ! 

Fath.  But  my  place  !-. — 

He/.  I'll  provide  thee  with  a  better  one. 

Fath.  'Tis  a  capital  place  !  So  little  to  do,  and  so  much 
to  get  for't.  Six  pounds  in  the  year ;  two  suits  of  livery  ; 
shoes  and  stockings,  and  a  famous  larder.  He'd  be  a  bold 
man  that  would  put  such  a  place  in  jeopardy.  My  place, 
Madam,  my  place  ! 

Hel.  I  tell  thee  I'll  provide  thee  with  a  better  place. 
Thou  shalt  have  less  to  do,  and  more  to  get.  Now,  Fath- 
om, hast  thou  courage  to  stand  by  thy  mistress  \ 

Fath.  1  have  ! 

Hel.  That's  right. 

Fath.  I'll  let  my  lady  out. 

Enter  Master  Walter,  unycrceived,  c. 

Hcl.  That's  right.    When,  Fathom  ] 
Fath.  To-night. 

Hcl.  She  is  to  be  married  to-night. 

Fath.  This  evening,  then.  Master  Walter  is  now  in  the 
library  ;  the  key  is  on  the  outside,  and  I'll  lock  him  in. 


SCEKE  I.J 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


67 


HcL  Excellent !    You'll  do  it  1 

Fatli.  Rely  upon  it.  How  he'll  stare  when  he  finds 
himself  a  prisoner,  and  my  young  lady  at  liberty  ! 

Ilel.  Most  excellent !    You'll  be  sure  to  do  it  ] 

Path.  Depend  upon  me  !    When  Fathom  undertakes 
a  thing,  he  defies  fire  and  water — 
Wal.  \  Coining  forward.]  Fathom  ! 

Fath.  Sir! 

Wal.  Assemble  straight  the  servants. 
Fath.  Yes,  Sir ! 
rVal  Mind, 

And  have  them  in  the  hall  when  I  come  down. 
Fath.  Yes,  Sir ! 

Wal.  And  see  you  do  not  stir  a  step, 
But  where  I  order  you. 
Fath.  Not  an  inch,  Sir! 

Wal.  See  that  you  don't, — away!   [Exit  Fathom,  l  J 
So,  my  fair  mistress, 
What's  this  you  have  been  plotting  1    An  escape 
For  mistress  Julia  ] 

Hcl.  I  avow  it. 

Wal.  Do  you  % 

Hcl.  Yes  ;  and  moreover,  to  your  face  I  tell  you, 
Most  hardly  do  you  use  her. 
Wal.  Verily! 

Hcl.  I  wonder  where's  her  spirit !    Had  she  mine 
She  would  not  take't  so  easily.    Do  you  mean 
To  force  this  marriage  on  her  ] 

Wal.  With  your  leave. 

Hcl.  You  laugh. 

Wal.  Without  it,  then.  I  don't  laugh  now. 
Hcl.  If  I  were  she,  I'd  find  a  way  to  escape. 

Wal.  What  would  you  do  ] 
Hcl.  I'd  leap  out  of  the  window  ! 

Wal.  Your  window  should  be  barred. 
Hcl.  I'd  cheat  you  still ! 
[*d  hang  myself  ere  I'd  be  forced  to  marry  ! 

Wal.  Well  said  !  you  shall  be  married,  then,  tc-night. 
Hcl.  Married  to-night ! 

Wal.  As  sure  as  I  have  said  it. 

Hel.  Two  words  tc.  that     Pray,  who's  to  be  my  bride* 
groom  1 


68 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[A:t  V 


Wal.  A  daughter's  bridegroom  is  her  father's  choice. 
Ilel.  My  father's  daughter  ne'er  shad  wed  such  bride- 
groom ! 
Wal.  Indeed! 

Hcl.  I'll  pick  a  husband  for  myself. 
Wal.  Indeed  ! 

HI.  Indeed,  Sir  ;  and  indeed  again  ! 

Wal.  Go  dress  you  for  the  marriage  ceremony. 

Hel.  But,  Master  Walter,  what  is  it  you  mean  * 

Enter  Modus,  r. 

Wal.  Here  comes  your  cousin ; — he  shall  be  your  bride* 
man  ! 

The  thought's  a  sudden  one, — that  will  excuse 
Defect  in  your  appointments.    A  plain  dress, — 
So  'tis  of  white, — will  do. 

Hcl.  I'll  dress  in  black. 
I'll  quit  the  castle. 

Wal.  That  you  shall  not  do. 
Its  doors  are  guarded  by  my  lord's  domestics  ; 
Its  avenues — its  grounds  :  what  you  must  do, 
Do  with  a  good  grace.    In  an  hour,  or  less, 
Your  father  will  be  here.    Make  up  your  mind 
To  take  with  thankfulness  the  man  he  gives  you. 
Now,  [^4s^e]  if  they  find  not  out  how  beat  their  hearts, 
I  have  no  skill,  not  [,  in  feeling  pulses.  [Exit,  L 

[Helen  and  Modus  stand  at  opposite  wings,  make  along 
pause,  then  bashfully  look  at  each  other. 

Hel.  Why,  cousin  Modus  !     What!     Will  you  stand  by 
And  see  me  forced  to  marry  %    Cousin  Modus, 
Have  you  not  got  a  tongue  %    Have  you  not  eyes  1 
Do  you  not  see  I'm  very — very  ill, 
And  not  a  chair  in  all  the  corridor  1 

Modus.  I'll  find  one  in  the  study.    [Going  towards,  c.  D. 

Hel.  Hang  the  study  ! 

Modus.  My  room's  at  hand.    I'll  fetch  one  thence. 

[Going,  r. 

Hcl.  You  snan't ! 
I'll  faint  ere  you  come  back  ! 
Modus.  What  shall  I  do  ? 

Hcl.  Why  don't  you  offer  to  support  me  ]    Well  ? 
Give  me  your  arm — be  quick  !  [Modus  offers  his  arm.]  1% 
that  the  way 


Scene  I.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK 


69 


To  help  a  lady  when  she's  like  to  faint  ? 

Ill  drop  unless  you  catch  me  !  [Falls  against  him. — He 

supports  he?-.]  That  will  do  ; 
I'm  better  now — [He  offers  to  leave  her.] — don't  leave  me  ! 

Is  one  well 

Because  one's  better  ?    Hold  my  hand.    Keep  so. 
"  I'll  soon  recover,  so  you  move  not.    Loves  he — [.4$2c?c.] 
**  Which  I'll  be  sworn  he  does,  he'll  own  it  now." 
Well,  cousin  Modus  1 

Modus.  Well !  sweet  cousin  % 

Hel.  Well  1 
You  heard  what  Master  Walter  said  ? 

Modus.  I  did. 

Hel.  And  would  you  have  me  many  1  Can't  you  speak  I 

Say  yes  or  no. 

Modus.  No,  cousin. 

Hel.  Bravely  said ! 
And  why,  my  gallant  cousin  ] 

Modus.  Why  1 

Hel.  Ah,  why  !— 
Women,  you  know,  are  fond  of  reasons — why 
Would  you  not  have  me  marry  1    How  you  look  I 
*  Is  it  because  you  do  not  know  the  reason  1" 
You  mind  me  of  a  story  of  a  cousin 
Who  once  her  cousin  such  a  question  asked. 
He  had  not  been  to  college,  though — for  books, 
Had  passed  his  time  in  reading  ladies'  eyes, 
Which  he  could  construe  marvellously  well, 
11  Though  writ  in  language  all  symbolical." 
Thus  stood  they  once  together,  on  a  day — 
As  we  stand  now — discoursed  as  we  discourse,—** 
"  But  with  this  difference, — fifty  gentle  words 
"  He  spoke  to  her,  for  one  she  spoke  to  him  !  — » 
"  What  a  dear  cousin  !  well,  as  I  did  say," 
As  now  I  questioned  thee,  she  questioned  him. 
And  what  was  his  reply  %    To  think  of  it 
Sets  my  heart  beating — 'twas  so  kind  a  one! 
So  like  a  cousin's  answer — a  dear  cousin  ! 
A  gentle,  honest,  gallant,  loving  cousin ! 
What  did  he  say  I 

Modus.  On  my  soul  I  can't  ,elh 

Hel,  A  man  might  find  it  out, 


70 


THE  HINCHBACK. 


[Act? 


Though  never  read  he  Ovid's  Art  of  Love. 
What  did  he  say  ]    He'd  marry  her  himself-! 
How  stupid  are  you,  cousin  !    Let  me  go! 

Modus.  You  are  not  well  yet. 

Hel.  Yes 

Modus.  I'm  sure  you're  not. 
Hel.  I'm  sure  I  am. 
Modus.  Nay,  let  me  hold  you,  cousin  ! 
I  like  it. 

Hel.  "  Do  you  1    I  would  wager  you 
"  You  could  not  tell  me  why  you  like  it.    Well ! 
"  You  see  how  true  I  know  you  !':    How  you  stare ! 
What  see  you  in  my  face  to  wonder  at  1 

Modus.  A  pair  of  eyes  ! 

Hel.  "  At  last  he'll  find  his  tongue — [Aside.]" 
And  saw  you  ne'er  a  pair  of  eyes  before  1 

Modus.  Not  such  a  pair. 

"  Hel.  And  why  1 

"  Modus.  They  are  so  bright ! 
"  You  have  a  Grecian  nose." 

Hel.  Indeed? 

Modus*  Indeed  ! 

Hel.  What  kind  of  mouth  have  I  1 

Modus.  A  handsome  one. 
I  never  saw  so  sweet  a  pair  of  lips  ! 
I  ne'er  saw  lips  at  all  till  now,  dear  cousin  ! 

Hel.  Cousin,  I'm  well, — you  need  not  held  me  now. 
Do  you  not  hear  1    I  tell  you  I  am  well  ! 
I  need  your  arm  no  longer — take't  away  ! 
So  tight  it  locks  me,  'tis  with  pain  I  breathe ! 
Let  me  go,  cousin  !    Wherefore  do  you  hold 
Your  face  so  close  to  mine  ?    What  do  you  mean  1 

Modus.  You've  questioned  me,  and  no  v  I'll  question  you 

Hel.  What  would  you  learn  1 

Modus.  The  use  of  lips  ? 

Hel.  To  speak. 

Modus.  Naught  else  1 

Hel.  "  How  bold  my  modest  cousin  grows  V 
Why,  other  use  know  you  ? 

Modus.  I  do. 

Hel.  Indeed! 
You're  wondrous  wise  !    And  pray,  what  is  it  % 


SCKXE  II. 1 


THE  HUNCHBACK 


71 


M)dus.  This  !  [Attempts  to  kiss  her. 

Hel.  Soft !    My  hand  thanks  you,  cousin — for  my  lips 
I  keep  them  for  a  husband  !  [Crosses,  u.]  Nay,  stand  off! 
I'll  not  be  held  in  manacles  again  ! 
Why  do  you  follow  me  ? 

Modus.  I  love  you,  cousin  ! 

Hel.  Oh,  cousin,  say  you  so  !    That's  passing  strange  i 
'  Falls  out  most  crossly — is  a  dire  mishap — " 
A  thing  to  sigh  for,  weep  for,  languish  for, 
And  die  for  ! 

Modus.  Die  for ! 

Hel.  Yes,  with  laughter,  cousin  ! 
For,  cousin,  I  love  you  ! 

Modus.  And  you'll  be  mine  1 

Hel.  I  will. 

Modus.  Your  hand  upon  it- 

Hil.  Hand  and  heart. 
Hie  to  thy  dressing  room,  and  I'll  to  mine — 
Attire  thee  for  the  altar — so  will  I. 

Whoe'er  may  claim  me,  thou'rt  the  man  shall  have  me. 
Away  !    Despatch  !    But  hark  you,  ere  you  go, 
Ne'er  brag  of  reading  Ovid's  Art  of  Love  ! 

Modus.  And  cousin !  stop — one  little  word  with  you  ! 
[Beckons  Helen  over  to  him,  snatches  a  hiss. — She  runs 
off,  r.  ;  he  takes  the  book  from  his  bosom,,  which  he 
had  jiut  there  in  former  scene,  looks  at  it  and  throws 
it  down. —  Exit,  l. 

Scene  II. — Julia's  Chamber. 
Enter  Julia,  l. 

Jul.  No  word  from  him,  and  evening  now  set  in  ! 
He  cannot  play  me  false  !    His  messenger 
Is  dogged — or  letter  intercepted.  I'm 
Beset  with  spies  ! — No  rescue  ! — No  escape  ! 
The  hour  at  hand  that  brings  my  bridegroom  home  ! 
No  relative  to  aid  me — friend  to  counsel  me  ! 

"  [^1  knock  at  the  door 

"  Come  in. 

"  Enter  Two  Female  Attendants. 


"  Your  will  1 


72 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act  r 


"  1st  Attend.  Your  toilet  waits,  my  iady  ; 
"  'Tis  time  you  dress. 

"  Jul.  'Tis  time  I  die  !  [A  peal  of  bells.]  What's  that  ? 

"  1st  Jlttend.  Your  wedding  bells,  my  lady. 

"  Jul.  Merrily 
"  They  ring  my  knell ! 

"  [Second  Attendant  presents  an  open  case. 
"  And  pray  you,  what  are  these  1 

"2nd  Attend.  Your  wedding  jewels. 

"  Jul.  Set  them  by. 

"  2nd  Attend.  Indeed 
u  Was  ne'er  a  braver  set !    A  necklace,  brooch, 
**  And  ear-rings  all  of  brilliants, — with  a  hoop 
"  To  guard  your  wedding  ring. 

"  Jul.  'Twould  need  a  guard 
"  That  lacks  a  heart  to  keep  it ! 

"  2nd  Attend.  Here's  a  heart 
"  Suspended  from  the  necklace- — one  huge  diamond 
"  Imbedded  in  a  host  of  smaller  ones  ! 
"  Oh,  how  it  sparkles  ! 

"  Jul.  Show  it  me  !    Bright  heart, 
"  Thy  lustre,  should  I  wear  thee,  will  be  false, — 
"  For  thou  the  emblem  art  of  love  and  truth, — 
"  From  her  that  wears  thee,  unto  him  that  gives  thee. 
"  Back  to  thy  case  !    Better  thou  ne'er  should'st  leave  it— 
"  Better  thy  gems,  a  thousand  fathoms  deep 
"  In  their  native  mine  again,  than  grace  my  neck, 
"  And  lend  thy  fair  face  to  palm  off  a  lie  ! 

"  1st  Attend.  Wilt  please  you  dress  % 

"  Jul.  Ay  !  in  infected  clothes 

New  from  a  pest-house  !    Leave  me  !    If  I  dress, 
u  I'll  dress  alone.    Oh  !  for  a  friend  !    Time  gallops  ! 

"  [Exeunt  Attendants.99 
He  that  should  guard  me  is  mine  enemy  ! 
Constrains  me  to  abide  the  fatal  die 
My  rashness,  not  my  reason,  cast !    He  comes, 
That  will  exact  the  forfeit !    Must  I  pay  it  1 
E'en  at  the  cost  of  utter  bankruptcy  ! 
What's  to  be  done  ]    Pronounce  the  vow  that  parts 
My  body  from  my  soul !     To  what  it  loathes 
Links  that,  while  mis  is  linked  to  what  it  loves  ! 
Condemned  to  such  perdition!     What's  to  be  done  ] 


SCENZ  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


73 


Stand  at  the  altar  in  an  hour  from  this  ! 

An  hour  thence  seated  at  his  board — a  wife ! 

Thence  ! — frenzy's  in  the  thought !    What's  to  De  done  1 

Enter  Master  Walter,  l.  u.  e. 

Wal.  (l.)  What!  mn  the  waves  so  high  1    Art  ready 
Julia  1 

Your  Lord  will  scon  be  here  !    The  guests  collect. 

Jul.  (r.)  Show  me  some  way  to  'scape  these  nuptials! 
Do  it! 

Some  opening  for  avoidance  or  escape, — 
Or,  to  thy  charge,  I'll  lay  a  broken  heart! 
It  may  be,  broken  vows,  and  blasted  honour ! 
Or  else  a  mind  distraught ! 

Wal.  What's  this  ? 

Jul.  The  strait 
I'm  fallen  into,  my  patience  cannot  bear  ! 
It  frights  my  reason — warps  my  sense  of  virtue  f 
Religion  !  changes  me  into  a  thing, 
I  look  at  with  abhorring! 

Wal.  Listen  to  me  ! 

Jul.  Listen  to  me  and  heed  me  !    If  this  contract 
Thou  hold'st  me  to,  abide  thou  the  result ! 
Answer  to  heaven  for  what  I  suffer ! — act ! 
Prepare  thyself  for  such  calamity 
To  fall  on  me,  and  those  whose  evil  stars 
Have  linked  them  with  me,  as  no  past  mishap, 
However  rare,  and  marvellously  sad, 
Can  parallel !    Lay  thy  account  to  live 
A  smileless  life,  die  an  unpitied  death — 
Abhorred,  abandoned  of  thy  kind, — as  one 
Who  had  the  guarding  of  a  young  maid's  peace,— 
Looked  on,  and  saw  her  rashly  peril  it ; — 
And,  when  she  owrned  her  danger,  and  confessed 
Her  fault,  compelled  her  to  complete  her  ruin  ! 

Wal.  Hast  done  ? 
Jul.  Another  moment,  and  I  have. 
Be  warned  !    Beware  how  you  abandon  me 
To  myself!    I'm  young,  rash,  inexperienced  !  tempted 
By  most  insufferable  misery  ! 
Bold,  desperate,  and  reckless!    Thou  hast  age, 
Experience,  wisdom,  and  collectedness, — 


74 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[ActT 


Power,  freedom, — everything  that  1  have  not 

Yet  want,  as  none  e'er  wanted !    Thou  can'-st  save  mo, 

Thou  ought'st !  thou  must !    I  tell  thee,  at  his  feet 

I'D  fall  a  corse — ere  mount  his  bridal  bed  ! 

So  choose  betwixt  my  rescue  and  my  grave  : 

And  quickly,  too  !    The  hour  of  sacrifice 

Is  near  !    Anon  the  immolating  priest 

Will  summon  me  !    Devise  some  speedy  means 

To  cheat  the  altar  of  its  victim  !    Do  it ! 

Nor  leave  the  act  to  me ! 

Wal.  Hast  done  \ 

Jul.  I  have. 

Wal.  Then  list  to  me — and  silently,  if  not 

Vith  patience  — [Brings  chair  for  himself  and  her. — Sht  a. 

he  l.]  Sit  down. — 

How  I  watched  thee  from  thy  childhood, 

I'll  not  recall  to  thee.    Thy  father's  wisdom — 

Whose  humble  instrument  I  was — directed 

Your  nonage  should  be  passed  in  privacy, 

From  your  apt  mind  that  far  outstripped  your  years, 

Fearing  the  taint  of  an  infected  world  ; — 

"  For,  in  the  rich  ground,  weeds,  once  taking  root, 

"  Grow  strong  as  flowers."    He  might  be  right  or  wrong! 

.  ... 
I  thought  him  right;  and  therefore  did  his  bidding. 

Most  certainly  he  loved  you — so  did  I ; 

Ay  !  well  as  I  had  been  myself  your  father ! 

[His  hand  is  resting  upon  his  knee,  Julia  attempts  te  ■ 

take  it — he  withdraws  it — looks  at  her — she  hangs  her 

head. 

Well ;  you  may  take  my  hand  !    "  I  need  not  say 

"  How  fast  you  grew  in  knowledge  and  in  goodness,-^ 

"  That  hope  could  scarce  enjoy  its  golden  dreams, 

*'  So  soon  fulfilment  realized  them  all  ! 

"  Enough.    You  came  t(  womanhood.    Your  heart, 

"  Pure  as  the  leaf  of  the  consummate  bud, 

"  That's  new  unfolded  by  the  smiling  sun, 

u  And  ne'er  knew  blight  or  canker  ! 

"  [She  attempts  to  place  her  other  hand  on  tits  shoulder- — 

"  he  leans  from  her — looks  at  her — she  hangs  her  head 

"again. 
1  Put  it  there  I" 

Where  left  I  off  1    I  know  !    When  a  good  woman 


SCIFI  II.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


75 


Is  fitly  mated,  she  grows  doubly  good, 
How  good  soe'er  before  !    I  found  the  man 
I  thought  a  match  for  thee  ;  and,  soon  as  found, 
Proposed  him  to  thee.    'Twas  your  father's  will. 
Occasion  offering,  you  should  be  married 
Soon  as  you  reached  to  womanhood  :  you  liked 
My  choice — accepted  him. — We  came  to  town  ; 
Where,  by  important  matter,  summoned  thence, 
1  left  you  an  affianced  bride  ! 
Jul.  You  did  ! 

You  did  !  [Leans  her  head  upon  her  hands  and  tvecpg 

Wal.  Nay,  check  thy  tears!    Let  judgment  now., 
Not  passion,  be  awake.    On  my  return, 
I  found  thee — what  1    I'll  not  describe  the  thing 
I  fcund  thee  then  !    I'll  not  describe  my  pangs 
To  see  thee  such  a  thing !    The  engineer 
Who  lays  the  last  stone  of  his  sea-built  tower, 
"  It  cost  him  years  and  years  of  toil  to  raise, — 
"  And,  smiling  at  it,  tells  the  winds  and  waves 
"  To  roar  and  whistle  now — "  and,  in  a  night, 
Beholds  the  tempest  sportiiag  in  its  place — 
Might  look  aghast,  as  I  did  ! 

Jul.  [Falling  on  her  knees.]  Pardon  me  ! 
Forgive  me  !  pity  me  ! 

Wal.  Resume  thy  seat.  [Raises  her* 

I  pity  thee  ;  perhaps  not  thee  alone 
It  fits  to  sue  for  pardon. 

Jul.  Me  alone ! 
None  other! 

li  Ival.  But  to  vindicate  myself, 
"  I  name  thy  lover's  stern  desertion  of  thee. 
"  What  wast  thou  then  with  wounded  pride  1    A  thing 
"  To  leap  into  a  torrent !  throw  itself 
"  From  a  precipice  !  rush  into  fire  !    I  saw 
"  Thy  madness — knew  to  thwart  it  were  to  chafe  it — 
"  And  humoured  it  to  take  that  course,  I  thought, 
u  Adopted,  least  'twould  rue  ! 

"  Jul.  'Twas  wisely  done. 

"  Wal.  At  least,  'twas  for  the  best. 

"  Jul.  To  blame  thee  for  it, 
"  Was  adding  shame  to  shame  !" — But,  Master  Walter! 
These  nuptials  ! — must  they  needs  gc  on  % 


76 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[Act* 


Enter  Servant,  l.  u.  e, 

Ser.  More  guests 
Arrive. 

Wal.  Attend  to  them.  [  Exit  Servant,  l 

Jul.  Dear  Master  Walter  ! 
Is  there  no  way  to  escape  these  nuptials  ? 

Wal.  Know'st  not 
lTrhat  with  these  nuptials  comes  1    Hast  thou  forgot? 
Jul.  What? 

Wal.  Nothing  ! — I  did  tell  thee  of  a  thing. 
Jul.  What  was  it  ] 
Wal.  To  forget  it  was  a  fault ! 
Look  back  and  think. 

Jul.  I  can't  remember  it. 

Wal.  [Up  from  chair. \  Fathers,  make  straws  your  chil- 
dren !    Nature's  nothing  ! 
^lood,  nothing  !    Once  in  other  veins  it  runs, 
Tt  no  more  yearneth  for  the  parent  flood, 
Than  doth  the  stream  that  from  the  source  disparts. 
Talk  not  of  love  instinctive — "  what  you  call  so, 
"  Is  but  the  brat  of  custom  !    Your  own  flesh 
"  By  habit  only  cleaves  to  you — without, 

Hath  no  adhesion  !"  [Aside.]  So,  you  have  forgot 
You  have  a  father,  and  are  here  to  meet  him  ? 

Jul.  I'll  not  deny  it. 

Wal.  You  should  blush  for't. 

Jul.  No  ! 

vo  !  no  !  dear  Master  Walter  !  what's  a  father 

^hat  you've  not  been  to  me  1  [He  turns  his  back  to  he?.] 

Nay,  turn  not  from  me, 
For  at  the  name  a  holy  awe  I  own, 
That  now  almost  inclines  my  knee  to  earth ! 
But  thou  to  me,  except  a  father's  name, 
Hast  all  the  father  been  :  the  care — the  love — 
The  guidance — the  protection  of  a  father  ! 
Can'st  wonder,  then,  if  like  thy  child  I  feel, 
And  feeling  so,  that  father's  claim  forget, 
Whom  ne'er  I  knew,  save  by  the  name  of  one  1 
Oh,  turn  to  me  and  do  not  chide  me !  or 
If  thou  wilt  chide,  chide  on  !  but  turn  tt)  me  ! 

Wal.  [Struggling  with  emotion.]   My  Julia!    \  Weeping 

he  holds  .ml  his  hand  to  her  ;  she  eageily  takes  ?t. 


Sc«Ne  III.J 


THE  HUHCHIJACK. 


77 


Jul.  Now,  dear  Master  Walter,  lieai  me  ! 
Is  tliere  no  way  to  'scape  these  nuptials  ] 

Wal.  Julia, 
A  promise  made,  admits  not  of  release, 
"  Save  by  consent  or  forfeiture  of  those 
u  Who  hold  it — so  it  should  be  pondered  well 
"  Before  we  let  it  go/'    Ere  man  should  say 
I  broke  the  word  I  had  the  power  to  keep, 
I'd  lose  the  life  I  had  the  power  to  part  with ! 
Remember,  Julia,  thou  and  I  to-day, 
Must  to  thy  father  of  thy  training  render 
A  strict  account.    While  honour's  left  to  us, 
We've  something: — nothing,  having  all  but  that! 
Now  for  thy  last  act  of  obedience,  Julia  ! 
Present  thyself  before  thy  bridegroom  !   [She  atnnU.\ 
Good  ! 

My  Julia's  now  herself!    Show  him  thy  heart, 
And  to  his  honour  leave't  to  set  thee  free, 
Or  hold  thee  bound. — They  come,  they  come  1*    Thy  fa- 
ther will  be  by  !  [Music]  "  [Exeunt  severally 

"  Scene  III. — The  Banqueting  Roo?n. 

"  Enter  Master  Walter  and  Master  Heartwell. 

"  Heart.  Thanks,  Master  Walter  !    Ne'er  was  child 
"  more  bent 

"  To  do  her  father's  will,  you'll  own,  than  mine  : 
M  Yet  never  one  more  fro  ward. 

"  Wal.  All  runs  fair — 
'*  Fair  may  all  end  !    To-day  you'll  learn  the  cause 
"  That  took  me  out  of  town.    But  soft  awhile, 
"  Here  comes  the  bridegroom  with  his  friends,  and  here 
"  The  all-obedient  bride. 

Enter  "  on  tine  hand  Julia,  and  on  the  other"  Lord  Roch- 
dale, with  Lord  Tinsel  and  friends  ;  afterwards  Clif- 
ford, (J.  D. 

Koch,  (c.)  Is  she  not  fair] 

*  In  representation,  1  they  come,  they  como  !'  is  inserted  as  above, 
and  there  is  no  succeeding  change  of  scene: — all  the  verses  and  direc- 
tions marked  with  inverted  commas  being  omitted.  Heariwell  should 
euter  wilh  the  friends  of  the  bride. 


78 


THE  HUNCHBACK 


[Act  V 


2V».  (l.)  Slio'II  do.   Your  servant,  lady !   Muter  Wal 

ter, 

We're  glad  to  see  you.    Sirs,  you're  welcome  all  1 
What  wait  they  for  ?    Are  we  to  wed  or  not  ] 
We're  ready — why  don't  they  present  the  bride  l 
hope  they  know  she  is  to  wed  an  Earl. 

Rock.  Should  I  speak  first  1 

Tin.  Not  for  your  coronet  ! 

as  your  friend,  may  make  the  first  advance. 
We're  come  here  to  be  married.    Where's  the  bride  1 

Wal.  There  stands  she,  Lord.  If  'tis  her  will  to  wed, 
His  lordship's  free  to  take  her. 

Tin.  Not  a  step  ! 
I  as  your  friend,  may  lead  her  to  your  lordship. 
Fair  lady,  by  your  leave.  [Crosses  to  het* 

Jul.  No  !  not  to  you. 

Tin.  I  ask  your  hand  to  give  it  to  his  lordship. 

Jul.  Nor  to  his  lordship — save  he  will  accept 
My  hand  without  my  heart !  "  but  I'll  present 
"  My  knee  to  him,  and,  by  his  lofty  rank, — 
"  Implore  him  now  to  do  a  lofty  deed 
"  Will  lift  its  stately  head  above  his  rank, — 
"  Assert  him  nobler  yet  in  worth  than  name, — 
"  And,  in  the  place  of  an  unwilling  bride, 
"  Unto  a  willing  debtor  make  him  lord, — 
"Whose  thanks  shall  be  his  vassals,  night  and  day 
"  That  still  shall  wait  upon  him  !" 

Tin.  What  means  this  %  [Crosses,  h 

Jul.  What  is't  behoves  a  wife  to  bring:  her  lord  % 

o 

Wal.  A  whole  heart,  and  a  true  one. 

Jul.  I  have  none  ! 
Not  half  a  heart — the  fraction  of  a  heart ! 
Am  I  a  woman  it  befits  to  wed  ] 

Wal.  Why,  where's  thy  heart  1 

Jul.  Gone — out  of  my  keeping  ! 
Lost — past  recovery  !  "  right  and  title  to  it— 
"  And  all  given  up  !"  and  he  that's  ownei  off'fc, 
So  fit  to  wear  it,  were  it  fifty  hearts 
I'd  give  it  tc  him  all ! 

Wal.  Thou  djst  not  mean 
His  Lrt  Iship's  secretary? 
Jul.  Yes.  Away 


Scene  III. J 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


79 


Disguises !    In  that  secretary  know 
The  master  of  the  heart,  of  which,  the  pc  or, 
Unvalued,  empty  casket,  at  your  feet, — 
Its  jewel  gone, — I  now  despairing  throw  !  \Kaeeli 
"  Of  his  lord's  bride  he's  lord  !  lord  paramount ! 
"  To  whom  her  virgin  homage  first  she  paid, — 
"  'Gainst  whom  rebelled  in  frowardness  alone, — 
M  Nor  knew  herself  how  loyal  to  him,  till 
Another  claim'd  her  duty — then  awoke 
To  sense  of  all  she  owed  him — all  his  worth — 
And  all  her  undeservings  !" 
Wal.  Rise,  my  Julia  ! 

Tin.  Lady,  we  come  not  here  to  treat  of  hearts,— • 
But  marriage  ;  which,  so  please  you,  is  with  us 
A  simple  joining,  by  the  priest,  of  hands. 
A  ring's  put  on  ;  a  prayer  or  two  is  said  ; 
You're  man  and  wife, — and  nothing  more  !    For  hearts 
We  oft'ner  do  without,  than  with  them,  lady  ! 

Clif.  So  does  not  wed  this  lady. 

[Advances,  c.    Julia  goes  to  Mm  as  for  protection* 

Tin.  Who  are  you  % 

Clif.  I'm  secretary  to  the  Earl  of  Rochdale. 

Tin.  My  lord  1 

Rcch.  I  know  him  not. 

Tin.  I  know  him  now — 
Your  lordship's  rival !    Once  Sir  Thomas  Clifford. 

Clif.  Ay,  Sir ;  and  once  this  lady's  bridegroom — who 
Then  loved  her — loves  her  still ! 

Jul.  Was  loved  by  her — 
Though  then  she  knew  it  not ! — is  loved  by  her 
As  now  she  knows,  and  all  the  world  may  know  ! 

Tin.  We  can't  be  laughed  at.    We  are  here  to  wed, 
A.nd  shall  fulfil  our  contract. 

Jul.  Clifford! 

Clif.  Julia! 
You  will  not  give  your  hand  1 

[A  pause — Julia  seems  utterly  hrt 

Wal.  You  have  forgot 
Again.    You  have  a  father  ! 

Jul.  Bring  him  now, — 
To  see  thy  Julia  justify  thy  training, 
AHd  lay  her  life  down  to  redeem  her  word  J 


80 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


[  Act  f 


Wal<  And  bo  redeems  her  all !   [Cros&u,  c]  Is  it  youi 
wOI, 

My  lord,  these  nuptials  should  go  on  1 
Koch.  It  is. 

Wal.  Then  is  it  mine  they  stop ! 

Tin.  I  told  your  lordship 
You  should  not  keep  a  Hunchback  for  your  agent. 

Wal.  Thought  like  my  father,  my  good  lord,  who  said 
He  would  not  have  a  Hunchback  for  his  son, — 
So  do  I  pardon  you  the  savage  slight ! 
My  lord,  that  I  am  not  as  straight  as  you, 
Was  blemish  neither  of  my  thought  nor  will, 
"  My  head  nor  heart.    It  was  no  act  of  mine, — " 
Yet  did  it  curdle  nature's  kindly  milk 
E'en  where  'tis  richest — in  a  parent's  breast — 
To  cast  me  out  to  heartless  fosterage, — 
Not  heartless  always,  as  it  proved — and  give 
My  portion  to  another !  "  the  same  blood — 
"  But  I'll  be  sworn,  in  vein,  my  lord,  and  soul — 
"  Although  his  trunk  did  swerve  no  more  than  yours- - 
u  Not  half  so  straight  as  I. 

"  Tin.  Upon  my  life 
tl  You've  got  a  modest  asfent,  Rochdale  !  Now 
41  He'll  prove  himself  descended — mark  my  words — 
"  From  some  small  gentleman ! 

"  JVal.  And  so  you  thought, 
"  Where  nature  played  the  churl,  it  would  be  fit 
"  That  fortune  played  it,  too.    You  would  have  had 
"  My  lord  absolve  me  from  my  agency  ! 
"  Fair  lord,  the  flaw  did  cost  me  fifty  times — 
u  A  hundred  times  my  agency ;" — but  all's 
Recovered.    Look,  my  lord,  a  testament        [Shoics  will. 
To  make  a  pension  of  his  lordship's  rent  roll ! 
It  is  my  father's,  and  was  left  by  him, 
In  case  his  heir  should  die  without  a  son, 
Then  to  be  opened.    Heaven  did  send  a  son 
To  bless  the  heir.    Heaven  took  its  gift  away. 
Ho  died — his  father  died.    And  Master  Walter— 
The  unsightly  agent  of  his  lordship  there — 
The  Hunchback  whom  your  lordship  would  have  stripped 
Of  his  agency, — is  now  the  Earl  of  Rochdale  ! 

Jul  The  Earl  of  Rochdale  ! 


■tjiwiiir.] 


THE  HUNCHBACK. 


81 


Wal  And  what  of  that  1    Thou  know'st  not  half  my 

greatness ! 
A  prouder  title,  Julia,  have  I  yet. 
Sooner  than  part  with  which,  I'd  give  that  up 
And  be  again  plain  Master  Walter.    What  ! 
Dost  thou  not  apprehend  me  1    Yes,  thou  dost ! 
Command  thyself — don't  gasp  !    My  pupil — daughter  ! 
Come  to  thy  father's  heart !        [Julia  rushes  into  his  arms. 
Tin.  We've  made  a  small  mistake  here.    Never  mind, 
'Tis  nothing  for  a  lord. 

Enter  Fathom,  r. 

Fath.  Thievery  !    Elopement — escape — arrest ! 
Wal.  What's  the  matter  1 

Fath.  Mistress  Helen  is  running  away  with  Master  Mo- 
dus— Master  Modus  is  running  away  with  Mistress  Helen 
— but  we  have  caught  them,  secured  them,  and  here  they 
come,  to  receive  the  reward  of  their  merits. 

Enter  Helen  and  Modus,  r.,  followed  by  Servants. 

Hcl.  I'll  ne'er  wed  man,  if  not  my  cousin  Modus. 
Modus.  Nor  woman  I,  save  cousin  Helen's  she. 
Wal.  [To  Hcartwcll.\  A  daughter  and  a  nephew  has  my 
friend, 

Without  their  match  in  duty  !    You  shall  marry. 

"  For  you,  Sir,  who  to-day  have  lost  an  earldom, 

*'  Yet  would  have  shared  that  earldom  with  my  child — 

"  My  only  one — content  yourself  with  prospect 

"  Of  the  succession — it  must  fall  to  you — 

"  And  fit  yourself  to  grace  it.    Ape  not  those 

M  Who  rank  by  pride.    The  man  of  simplest  bearing 

"  Is  yet  a  lord  when  he's  a  lord  indeed  ! 

"  Tin.  The  paradox  is  obsolete.  Ne'er  heed  ! 
"  Learn  from  his  book,  and  practise  out  of  mine. 

"  Wal."  Sir  Thomas  Clifford,  take  my  daughter's  hand— 
If  now  you  know  the  master  of  her  heart : 
Give  it,  my  Julia  !    You  suspect,  I  see, — 
And  rightly — there  has  been  some  masking  here. — 
Well :  you  shall  know  anon  how  keeps  Sir  Thomas 
His  baronetcy,  still — and,  for  myself, 
How  jealousy  of  my  mis-shapen  back 
Made  me  mistrustful  of  a  child's  affections, 


82 


THE  HUNCHBACK 


Although  I  won  a  wife's — so  that  I  dropped 

The  title  of  thy  father,  lest  thy  duty 

Should  pay  the  debt,  thy  love  alone  could  solve. 

All  this  and  more,  that  to  thy  friends  and  thee 

Pertains,  at  fitting  time  thou  shalt  be  told. 

But  now  thy  nuptials  wait — the  happy  close 

Of  thy  hard  trial — wholesome,  though  severe  ! 

The  world  won't  cheat  thee  now — thy  heart  is  puDVod  j- 

Thou  know'st  thy  peace  by  finding  out  its  bane, 

And  ne'er  wilt  act  from  reckless  impulse  more  ! 

DISPOSITION  OF  THE  CHARACTERS  AT  THE  FALL  Of 
THE  CURTAIN. 


Clifford.  Julia. 
Helen  .  V 


Waltke. 

Roc  HD  AIM. 
TtHISBi 


Modus. 
He-i*.twell. 

9. 


4. 


No.  V. 

FRENCH'S  STANDARD  DRAMA. 


THE  WIFE: 

A   TALE   OF  MANTUA. 

IN   FIVE  ACTS. 

BY  JAMES  SHERIDAN  KNOWLES, 

WITH  THE  STAGE  DIRECTIONS, 

HARKED  AITD  CORRECTEH  AS  PLAYED  AT  THE  PARK  THEATRE,  WW 
J.B  ADDIS,  PROMPTED. 


NEW  YORK: 

SAMUEL  FRENCH, 

122  Nassau  Strbkt,  (Uj  Stairs.) 


CAST   OF  CHARACTERS. 


Park,  1846.  Fulcra*  St.  Boston. 

Julian  St.  Ficrrt   Mr.  Davenport.  Mr.  Jamea  Wallack 

Antonio   ■   Bass.  44  Gilbert. 

Leonardo  Qonzago   44   Dyott  44  Bland. 

Terrardo   u  Stark.  «  Fleming. 

Count  Florio   "  Sutherland.  "   II.  Russell. 

Lorenzo   M  A.  Andrews.  44  Gallagher. 

Hugo   44  Gallot  "  W.  Germon. 

Bartolo   «  Fisher.  44  Whiting. 

Bernardo   *  Anderson.  44  S.  D.  Johnsoi 

OarUmm.   "   Sprague.  44  Parsons. 

Mart*   "   Matthews.  «  Smith. 

Putro   44   Jones.  44  Stephen* 

Jomritr   44  Harris.  44  Parker. 

Advocate   "  M(  Douall.  44  Benson. 

Stephen  o   44  Adams. 

Firet  Officer   44  Heath. 

Second  do   44  Milot 

Cosmo'  

Mariana   Mrs.  MowatL  Mrs.  Blaad. 

rUriitl  Miss  HalL  Mils  Boqaat 


lord*,  LadUt,  Officers,  Soldier*,  Attendants, 


EDITORIAL  INTRODUCTION. 

The  Hunchback  of  Mr.  Knovvles,  was  soon  followed  by  the  produc- 
tion of  the  Wife.  This  beautiful  play  was  originally  represented 
the  24th  April,  1833,  at  the  Covent  Garden  Theatre — the  author  ap- 
pearing as  Julian  St.  Pierre,  Miss  Ellen  Tree  as  Mariana,  and  Mr. 
Charles  Kean  as  Leonardo.  It^'as  played  upwards  of  fifty  nights  du- 
ring the  season. 

There  are  many  passages  of  exquisite  poetry  hi  this  piece,  and  some 
well  contrived  coups  de  theatre,  which  never  fail  of  effect  when  com- 
mon justice  is  done  them  in  the  representation.  Among  the  latter  we 
may  enumerate  the  scene  where  Leonardo  discovers  himself — that  be- 
tween Mariana  and  the  friar — the  trick,  by  which  St.  Pierre  gets  pos- 
session of  the  dagger  of  the  villain  Duke,  and  is  enabled  to  compel 
him  to  sign  the  confession  of  his  own  infamous  practices— the  sudden 
appearance  of  the  slandered  Duchess  in  the  tent  of  her  husband,  and 
the  subsequent  entrance  of  St.  Pierre,  followed  by  his  recognition  of 
nis  sister  and  his  own  death. 

Nothing  could  be  more  finely  conceived  than  the  magnanimous  in- 
credulity, with  which  Leonardo  listens  to  the  accusations  against  his 
wife.  The  character  of  Mariana  is  beautifully  sketched.  The  combina- 
tion of  energy  of  will  and  independence  of  judgment  with  the  depth  and 
constancy  of  all  the  tenderest  affections — the  interweaving  of  the  traits 
which  command  respect,  with  those  which  inspire  love — the  reconcile- 
ment of  all  that  is  gentle,  tender  and  adorable  in  the  feminine  attributes, 
with  the  moral  courage  that  prefers  death  to  oppression,  and  the  intel- 
lectual boldness,  which  makes  her  more  than  a  match  in  argument  for 
the  priest,  who  would  control  her  actions, — all  form  an  admirable  and 
natural  picture  of  a  true  woman  placed  in  circumstances  of  trial  and 
perplexity 

The  character  of  St.  Pierre  is  one  of  the  most  marked,  interesting 
nnd  original  that  we  have  had  upon  the  stage,  since  the  days  of  the 
ELzabethan  dramatists.     It  is  that  of  a  youth  trained  up  to  crime,  and 


IV 


EDITORIAL  INTRODUCTION. 


soiled  with  guilt,  but  who  is  haunted  with  a  sense  of  tre  good  and  the 
beautiful,  which  in  the  end  breaks  forth  to  overwhelm  lis  tempter  and 
instructor  in  depravity,  with  consternation  and  defeat. 

The  Wife  meri  a  place  among  the  highest  in  our  list  of  stock  plays. 
It  is  not,  however,  one  of  those  pieces,  which  it  is  safe  to  trust  to  an 
inferior  cor\s  dramatique.  The  first  three  acts  in  particular,  are  likely 
to  drag  hi  the  representation  unless  the  principal  characters  are  sus- 
tained with  ability  and  spirit.  The  two  closing  acts  are  so  full  of  fine 
points,  that  it  would  be  difficult  even  for  dullness  to  render  them  inef- 
fective. 


SDramcitts  JkrBona  anir  (Jlostunra, 

ST.  PIERRE. — Ragged  doublet  and  trunks,  old  hat.  Second  dress,  very  handsome 

cavalier  dress. 

LEONARDO. — Handsome  black  shape,  trimmed  with  yellow  and  gold.  Second 

dress,  armour-shirt  and  legging,  with  gold  helmet. 
FERRARDO.— Handsomely  trimmed  red  tunic  and  vest,  dark  blue  velvet  cloak 

trimmed  with  silver. 

FLORIO.— Blue  merino  tunic  trimmed  with  silver,  crimson  trunks  trimmed  with 

gold,  red  cloak  richly  trimmed,  black  cap  and  feathers. 
ANTONIO. — Black  silk  shirt  trimmed  with  velvet,  black  velvet  surplus  trimmed 

with  black  silk  ribbon,  black  velvet  skull-cap. 
LORENZO. — Black  cloak  and  square  cap. 
HUGO. — Grey  cloth  shape  trimmed  with  black. 
BARTOLO.— Do. 

BERNARDO.— Fawn-coloured  shirt,  trimmed  with  black  velvet 
CARLO.— Do. 

MARCO.— Black  tunic,  trunks,  and  hat. 
PIETRO.— Do. 
COSMO.— Do. 

STEPIIANO         \  Blue  shape,  striped,  and  buttons.   Second  dress,  yellow  velvet 

AND  OFFICERS,  j    tunic,  good  breastplate  and  cap. 
ADVOCATE.— Black  tunic  and  trunks,  cloak,  and  square  cap. 
COURIER.— Blue  shirt  trimmed  with  black  velvet,  breastplate  and  cap. 
MARIANNE. — (Dress  according  to  taste  of  Actress.) 
FLORIBEL.— Do. 


EXITS  and  ENTRANCES. 
R. means  Right;  L.  Left;  R.  D.  Right  Door;  L.  D.  Left  Door  \ 
8.  E.  Second  Entrance;  U.  E.  Upper  Entrance  ;  M.  U.  Middle  Door. 
RELATIVE  POSITIONS. 
R.  means  Right;   L.  Left;   C.  Centre;  R.  C.  Right  of  Centre; 
L.  C.  Left  of  Centre. 

•  *  The  Reader  is  supposed  to  be  on  the  Stage,  facing  the  Audienct. 
R.  RC.  C.  LC  L. 


THE    W  I  FE  i 


21  Sale  of  JHatitua. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — A  street  in  Mantua. 
Enter  Leonardo  Gonzaga  and  Lorenzo,  L, 

Leon.  So,  in  my  native  city,  thanks  to  heaven, 
Ten  years  and  more  elapsed,  I  stand  again  ! 
A  boy  it  sent  me  forth,  takes  back  a  man. 
Hail  to  it !    'Tis  mine  old  acquaintance  still, 
In  nothing  strange — unaltered.    To  a  stone 
The  same  I  left  it !    Glad  am  I  to  see  it — 
None  better  loves  its  venerable  face. 

Lor.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  smile. 

Leon.  I  do  so,  Signor. 
I  am  a  boy  again  !    The  days  come  back 
When  smallest  things  made  wealth  of  happiness 
And  ever  were  at  hand !  when  I  did  watch 
With  panting  heart  the  striking  of  the  clock, 
Which  hardly  sounded  ere  the  book  was  shut. 
Then  for  the  race — the  leap — the  game  !    O  Signor, 
The  vigor  and  endurance  of  such  joy  ! 
Is 't  e'er  to  come  again  %    And  care  so  light, 
That,  looking  back,  you  smile  you  thought  it  care, 
And  call  it  part  of  pleasure !    I'm  again 
In  Mantua  !  [Crosses  to  l 

Lor.  Then  here  we  say  farewell. 

Leon.  Not  so  :  acquaintance,  born  and  nurtured  in 


6 


THE  WIFE. 


[Act  I 


Adversity,  is  worth  the  cherishing. 
Tis  proved  steel,  which  one  may  trust  one's  .ife  to. 
You  are  a  stranger  here  in  Mantua, 
Which  I  am  native  to.    What  brings  you  hither  ? 
If  'tis  a  cause  no  scruple  of  just  weight 
Forbids  thee  to  unfold,  unbosom  thee, 
And  in  return  for  what  thou  part'st  with,  take 
The  zeal  and  honor  of  a  hearty  friend, 
And  service,  too,  to  boot.    You  pause,  from  doabt 
Either  of  my  ability  or  faith. 
If  this,  I'm  sorry  lor 't — if  that,  take  heed. 
You  know  not  by  the  eye  the  practised  limb 
Where  the  informed  and  active  sinew  lies, 
That's  equal  to  the  feat.    What,  silent  still  1 
'Sdoath,  man  !  a  dwarf  is  not  to  be  despised, 
For  he  may  ljave  a  giant  for  his  friend, 
And  so  be  master  of  a  giant's  strength. 
Come,  come,  have  confidence  ; — 'tis  the  free  rein 
Which  takes  the  willing  courser  o:er  the  leap 
He'd  miss  if  you  did  check  him. 

Lor.  There  are  men 
Whose  habits  in  abeyance  hold  their  natures, 
Which  still  remain  themselves.    Your  temperament 
Is  of  the  sanguine  kind, — and  so  is  mine. 
But  lo,  the  difference  !     Thy  frankness  brooks 
No  pause  ;  thy  wish  is  scarce  conceived  ere  told 
As  if  men's  hearts  were  open  as  their  looks, 
And  trust  were  due  to  all.    The  law  hath  been 
My  study,  Signor;  and,  these  three  years  past, 
My  practice  too ;  and  it  hath  taught  me  this — 
To  doubt,  with  openness  to  be  convinced, 
Is  to  remain  on  this  side  danger, — yet 
No  fraction  less  of  generosity 
Which  it  becomes  a  noble  mind  to  cherish. 

Leon.  And  doubt  you  me  1 

Lor.  No,  Signor ;  but  drew  back 
When  you  with  instant  promptness  did  advance 
Where  I,  with  all  the  heart  to  take  the  step, 
Had  still,  I  fear,  been  standing.    You  shall  know 
Ny  errand  hither.    I  am  nephew — 

Leon.  Stop 
Till  these  pass  on  1 


SCEWX  I.] 


THE  WIFE. 


7 


Enter  Bernardo  Bartolo,  Carlo,  and  others,  n. 

Car   Will  not  the  Duke  postpone  the  cause  1 
Bar.  I  tell  thee  no. 
Bar.  And  wherefore  1 

Bar.  What's  that  to  thee  ? — Is  not  he  the  Duke  ! 
Shall  such  a  niece  of  flesh  and  bones  as  thou  art,  question 
the  Duke  ? 

Car.  Why  not  % 

Bar.  Why  not  %  Would  any  >ne  believe  he  had  been 
born  in  Mantua  ]  Now  mark  how  I  will  answer  him. 
Dost  thou  drink  Burgundy  ] 

Car.  No,  but  water. 

Bar.  Then  thou  art,  compared  to  the  great  duke,  what 
water  is  to  Burgundy. 

Bcr.  Say  on,  Bartolo.  Well  !  The  duke  refuses  to 
postpone  the  cause  ;  and  what  then  ? 

Bar.  Why  then  the  cause  comes  on. 

Ber.  And  what  will  be  the  end  on't '? 

Bar.  That  knows  the  duke. 

Ber.  She  was  a  bold  girl,  when  they  forced  her  to  the 
church,  to  refuse  to  give  her  hand  there,  and  claim  the 
protection  of  the  curate. 

Bar.  He  was  a  bolder  man  to  have  any  thing  to  say  ttt 
bo  mettlesome  a  piece  of  stuff. 

Car.  And  to  refuse  a  count ! 

Bar.  Her  cause  will  not  thrive  the  better  for  that,  un- 
less, indeed,  the  duke  be  wrath  with  the  count  for  honora- 
bly affecting  a  commissary's  ward. 

Leon.  [Aside.]  You  seem  intent  on  their  discourse. 

Lor.  [Aside.]  I  am  so. 

Ber.  You  saw  her,  Bartolo,  did  you  not  1 

Bar.  Yes,  I  was  passing  by  when  they  were  forcing  hei 
into  the  church,  and  followed  them  in. 

Car.  Is  she  as  handsome  as  they  say  1 

Bar.    Humph  ! — handsome  !  handsome  is  this,  and 

handsome  is  that.  Notwithstanding  I  think  I  dare  pro- 
nounce  her  handsome,  very  handsome  !  nay,  I  will  go  far- 
ther, and  confess  that  were  she  a  countess,  or  a  duchess,  I 
would  call  her  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Mantua. 

Ber  But  why  wishes  the  curate  to  have  the  cause  post 
poneo  ^ 

Bat    Tc  wait  for  a  learned  doctor  of  the  law,  for  whom 


8 


THE  WIFE. 


[Act  I 


he  has  sent  to  Rome,  but  who  has  not  yet  arrived,  though 
hourly  looked  for. 

Car,  What !  must  one  send  for  law  to  Rome  ] 

Bar.  Yes,  if  one  cannot  find  it  in  Mantua. 

Car.  Cannot  one  find  law  in  Mantua  ] 

Bar.  Not  if  it  all  be  bought  up.  There's  not  a  legal 
man  of  note  whom  the  count  has  not  retained  ;  so  was  the 
curate  forced  to  send  for  his  nephew  to  Rome — a  man,  it 
is  reported,  of  great  learning,  and  of  profound  skill  in  his 
profession,  though  hardly  yet  out  of  his  nonage. 

Leon.  [Aside.]  You  color,  Signor  !  'tis  of  you  he  speaks. 

Car.  Fears  he  to  come  to  Mantua,  or  what  ] 

Bar.  'Tis  thought  that  the  brigands  have  detained  him 
—a  plague  upon  the  rascals  !  A  word  in  your  ears,  Sig- 
nors.   You  all  know  that  Bartolo  is  a  loyal  man. 

All.  We  do,  Bartolo. 

Bar,  Said  I  ever  a  word  against  the  duke  ? 
Ml.  No. 

Bar.  You  are  right,  Signors  :  nor  would  I,  tho'  the  duke 
.were  to  hang  every  honest  man  in  Mantua,  for  is  he  not 
the  duke  1 — and  is  not  Bartolo  a  loyal  man  1  Now,  if  I 
speak  of  the  duke's  cousin,  whom  the  brigands,  they  say, 
have  killed,  speak  I  against  the  duke  ! 

All.  No. 

Bar.  Is't  treason  to  say,  "  a  pity  that  he  was  killed"  1 
All.  No. 

Bar.  Ah,  Signors,  had  he  succeeded  his  father,  he  would 
have  made  a  proper  duke.  Is  this  saying  any  thing 
against  his  cousin  that  is  the  duke  1 

All.  No. 

Bar.  I  warrant  me,  no!  Catch  Bartolo  talking  treason. 
Who  says  a  word  against  the  duke  ]  He  dies,  as  Bartolo 
is  a  loyal  man.  But  fare  you  well,  Signors.  The  trial 
comes  on  at  noon — and  noon  will  soon  be  here. 

Ber.  We  go  your  way. 

Bar.  Come  on,  then.  Remember  I  said  not  a  wore 
against  the  duke.  \Exeunt  Bartolo  and  others,  i 

Leon.  Of  you  he  spoke — was  it  not  so  ] 
Lor.  It  was. 

Leon.  You  come  to  Mantua  to  plead  the  cause 
jf  this  fair  damsel.    You  were  here  before 
But  that  the  brigands  intercepted  you,— 


THE  WIFE. 


9 


Your  hurt,  but  my  advantage,  whose  escape 
Long  time  their  captive,  you  contriv'd.    And  now, 
To  prove  my  friendship  more  than  wordy  vaunting 
I  have  the  power  to  serve  you.    Take  me  with  you, 
Your  clerk,  you  said,  opposing  vain  resistance, 
The  hot-brained  robber  slew.    Suppose  me  him  : 
I  have  a  smattering  of  his  vocation, 
A  notion  of  the  mystery  of  yours  ; 
A.nd  I  would  hear  by  their  own  lips  recited, 
This  worthy  priest  and  beauteous  damsel's  cause, 
For  reasons  which — you  smile. 
Lor.  A  thought  did  cross  me. 

Leo.  I  know  thy  thought — 'tis  wrong  !  'Tis  not  the  liea1 
Of  youthful  blood  which  prompts — you  smile  again. 

Lor.  Your  pardon. — If  I  did,  you  have  to  thank 
The  quickness  of  your  apprehension. 

Leon.  Mark  me  ! — 
I  have  loved  my  last — and  that  love  was  my  first ! 
A  passion  like  a  seedling  that  did  spring, 
Whose  germ  the  winds  had  set ;  of  stem  so  fine, 
And  leaf  so  small,  to  inexperienced  sight 
It  passed  for  naught — until,  with  swelling  trunk, 
And  spreading  branches  bowing,  all  around, 
[t  stood  a  goodly  tree  !    Are  you  content  1 
This  was  my  sadness,  Signor,  which  the  sight 
Of  my  dear  native  city  banished  ; 
Which  thy  misgiving  hath  brought  back  again  ; 
And  which  will  be  the  clothing  of  my  heart, 
While  my  heart  calls  this  breast  of  mine  its  house. 

Lor.  I  pray  you,  pardon  me  ! 

Leon.  I  pray  you,  peace  ! 
Time  presses — Once  again,  have  confidence, 
And  take  me  with  you  to  your  uncle's  home. 
More  than  you  credit  me,  I  may  bestead  you. 
Wilt  take  my  hand  % 

Lor.  I  will ! 

Leon.  Have  with  you  then  !  Excuntt  R. 

SCENE  II. — Antonio's  hou:e 
Enter  Antonio  and  Pietro,  r 
Ant.  What  lacks  it  now  of  noon  ? 


10 


THE  WIFE 


Act  J 


Piet.  An  hour  or  more 

Ant.  No  chance  of  his  arrival ! — Trus  delay  " 
Perplexes  me  !    Is  it  neglect  1 — I  thought 
His  answer  would  have  been  his  presence  here, 
Prompt  as  my  summons  :  yet  he  neither  comes 
Nor  sends  excuse.    'Ti»  very  strarge.    She  holds 
The  same  sedate  and  lofty  carriage  still  ] 

Piet.  She  does,  and  native  seems  it  to  the  maid 
As  her  fair  brow,  wherefrom  it  calmly  lcoks, 
As  from  its  custom'd  and  assured  seat : 
A  gentleness  that  smiles  without  a  smile  : 
For  'tis  the  sweetness,  not  of  any  part, 
But  all — look,  speech,  and  act, — delights  the  heart 
That's  near  her.    Silence  is  her  humor  :  yet 
She  never  shuns  discourse  :  while  what  she  says, 
Hath  one  unwearied  constant  burden  still, 
A  blessing  on  your  reverence. 

Ant.  Poor  girl ! 
She  owes  me  naught. 
She  was  afflicted,  persecuted,  and 
I  succor' d  her  ! — I,  standing  at  the  altar! 
Beneath  my  master's  roof!    His  livery 
Blazon'd,  as  ne'er  was  earthly  king's,  upon  me  ' 
What  could  I  less  1 

Piet.  Fails  he  to  come,  for  whom 
Your  reverence  looks  to  plead  the  damsel's  cause 
Must  it  perforce  go  on  1 

Ant.  It  must ;  and  I 
Myself  will  be  her  advocate,  before 
The  haughty  duke.    For  problems  of  deep  law, 
Will  give  him  axioms  of  plain  truth,  and  paint 
Her  thrilling  grievance  to  the  life  with  tears, — 
Which,  pity  seeing,  shall  to  every  heart 
That  owns  her  gentle  influence,  commend, 
And  gather  tears  to  aid  them. 

Pinter  Stephano,  l. 

Ste.  May  it  please  you, 
Two  strangers,  craving  audience,  wait  below. 

Ant.  Admit  them  !    [Exit  Step,  l.]    'Tis  r.ry  nephew! 
Worthy  Pietro, 
Have  all  in  readiness,  that  we  appear 
Befo  e  fhe  duke  when  cited.  [Exit  Pietro,  r 


BlJ<E  II  ] 


HE  WIFE 


11 


Efiter  Leonardo  Gonzaga  and  Loretizo,  l. 

So  Lorenzo ! 

Lor.  Save  you,  my  reverend  uncle  ! 

Ant.  Now  a  week 
I've  looked  for  you — but  waive  me  the  explanations. 
Thou'rt  come,  and  to  the  business  that  has  brought  thee  ■ 
I  have  possessed  thee  of  the  damsel's  cause 
In  all  its  bearings — art  prepared  to  plead  it  % 

Lor.  I  am,  so  please  your  rev'rence  ; — but  with  us 
That  evidence  is  best  which  is  direct. 
That  the  Count  Florio  seeks  the  damsel's  hand, — 
That  v>  ills  her  guardian  she  should  give  it  him, — 
That  she  resists  her  uncle  and  the  count,— 
I  know,  but  not  the  cause  of  her  dissent. 
Children  to  guardians  do  obedience  owe ; 
A  match  so  lofty  warrants  some  enforcement, 
Which  not  on  slight  grounds,  should  the  maid  resist. 

Ant.  Ground  know  I  none,  save  strong  aversion. 

Lor.  Pray  you 
Vouchsafe  us  conference  with  the  maid  herself. 
Her  disposition  shall  this  gentleman 
That's  come  with  me — my  trusty  clerk — set  down. 

Ant.  I'll  bring  her  to  you  ;  but,  I  charge  you,  boy* 
You  keep  in  mind  you  are  her  advocate. 
For  she,  indeed,  of  those  rare  things  of  earth, 
Which  of  the  debt  that's  due  to  it,  rob  Heaven, 
That  men  set  earth  before  it,  is  the  rarest ! 
Then  guard  thee,  nephew  ! — rather  with  thine  ears 
And  tongue  discourse  with  her,  than  with  thine  eyes, 
Lest  thou  forget  it  was  her  cause,  not  she 
That  summon'd  thee  to  Mantua  ! 

Lor.  Fear  me  not !  [Exit  Anton\o,  r, 

Leon.  A  service  of  some  danger,  it  should  seem, 
Your  rev'rend  uncle  has  engaged  you  in  : 
And  by  his  pardon,  for  your  safety — 

Lor.  Is't  from  your  own  misgivings  that  you  doubt  me  1 

Leon.  No  : — as  I  said  before,  my  heart  is  safe — 
Love  proof,  with  love  !  which,  if  it  be  not,  Signor, 
A  passion  that  can  only  once  be  felt — 
Hcth  but  one  object — lives  and  dies  with  us — 
And,  while  it  lives,  remains  itself,  while  all 
Attachments  e^se  keep  changing — it  is  nothing ! 


12 


THE  WIFE. 


[Acta 


I  used  to  laugh  at  love  and  deem  it  fancy  ; 

My  heart  would  choose  its  mistress  by  mine  eyes, 

Whom  scarce  they  found  ere  my  heart  sought  a  ne\>  11*9 

I  knew  not  then  the  'haviour  of  the  soul — 

How  that's  the  loveliness  which  it  doth  lodge, 

A  world  beyond  the  loveliness  of  form  ! 

I  found  it !  when  or  where — for  weal  or  woe — 

It  matters  not !    I  found  it !  wedded  it ! 

Never  to  be  divorced  from  that  true  love 

Which  taught  me  what  love  was  ! 

Lor.  You  wedded  it  ? — 
Then  was  your  passion  blest  1 

Leon.  No,  Signor,  no  ! 
Question  no  farther,  prithee  !    Here's  your  uncle. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Mariana,  r. 

Ant.  Lo,  nephew  !  here's  the  maid 
To  answer  for  herself! 

Lor.  [  To  Leon.]  She's  fair  indeed  ! 
Description  ne'er  could  give  her  out  the  thing, 
One  only  glance  avows  her  ! — Prithee,  look ! 

Leon.  Show  her  to  Time,  who  has  not  seen  the  fail  est  1 
Remember,  Signor,  Time's  no  gazer,  but 
Doth  ever  keep  his  eye  upon  his  road, 
His  feet  in  motion  ; — noon  is  just  at  hand. 

Lor.  I  thank  you.    Note  my  questions — her  replies. 
Your  guardian — is  he  your  relation  too  1 

Mar.  No, — would  he  were  !    That  stay  had  needs  oe 
strong, 

Which  failing,  we've  no  other  left  to  cling  ro. 

Leon.  Oh,  music  ! — 

Lor.  What's  the  matter  1 

Leon.  I  did  hear 
A  bird,  whose  throat  did  beggar  all  the  grove, 
And  of  its  rich  and  famed  minstrel  makes 
A  poor  and  common  chorister  ! 

Lor.  Hear  her  ! 
You'll  have  no  ear  for  any  other  bird  ; 
Look  at  her,  and  you'll  have  no  ear  for  her, 
Your  tranced  vision  every  other  sen&e 
Absorbing  ! — Gave  you  promise  to  the  count  ? 

Mar.  None 


Scene  1 1. J 


THE  WIFE. 


13 


Lor.  Nor  encouragement  1 

Mar.  Such  as  aversion 
Gives  to  the  thing  it  loathes. 

Lor.  Have  you  a  vow 
Or  promise  to  another  1 — that  were  a  plea 
To  justify  rejection.    You  are  silent. 
And  yet  you  speak — if  blushes  speak,  as  men 
Declare  they  do.    Come,  come,  I  know  you  love, 
Give  me  to  know  the  story  of  your  love  ! 
That,  thereupon,  I  found  my  proper  plea 
To  show  your  opposition  not  a  thing 
Of  fantasy,  caprice,  or  frowardness, 
But  that  for  which  all  hearers  shall  commend  you, 
Proves  it  the  joint  result  of  heart  and  reason, 
Each  other's  act  approving. — Was't  in  Mantua 
You  met  1 

Mar.  No,  Signor ;  in  my  native  land. 

Lor.  And  that  is — 

Mar.  Switzerland. 

Lor.  His  country,  too  1 

Mar.  No,  Signor,  he  belonged  to  Mantua. 

Lor.  That's  right — you  are  collected  and  direct 
In  your  replies.    I  dare  be  sworn  your  passion 
Was  such  a  thing,  as  by  its  neighborhood 
Made  piety  and  virtue  twice  as  rich 
As  e'er  they  were  before.    How  grew  it !  Come, 
Thou  know'st  thy  heart — look  calmly  into  it, 
And  see  how  innocent  a  thing  it  is 
Which  thou  dost  fear  to  show. — I  wait  your  answer. 
How  grew  your  passion  % 

Mar.  As  my  stature  grew, 
Which  rose  without  my  noting  it,  until 
They  said  I  was  a  woman.    I  kept  watch 
Beside  what  seemed  his  death-bed.    From  beneath 
An  avalanche  my  father  rescued  him, 
The  sole  survivor  of  a  company 

Who  wandered  through  our  mountains.    A  long  time 

His  life  was  doubtful,  Signor,  and  he  called 

For  help,  whence  help  alone  could  come,  whicr  I 

Morning  and  night,  invok'd  along  with  him. — 

So  first  our  souls  did  mingle  ! 

B 


4 


THE  WIPE* 


[Act  I. 


Lor.  I  perceive  : — you  mingled  souls  until  you  mingled 

hearts  'I 

You  lov'd  at  last.    Was't  not  the  sequel,  maid  % 
Mar.  I  loved  indeed  !    If  I  but  nursed  a  flower 

Which  to  the  ground  the  rain  and  wind  had  beaten 

That  flower  of  all  our  garden  was  my  pride  : — 

What  then  was  he  to  me,  for  whom  I  thought 

To  make  a  shroud,  when,  tending  on  him  still 

With  hope,  that,  baffled  still,  did  still  keep  up, 

I  saw  at  last  the  ruddy  dawn  of  health 

Begin  to  mantle  o'er  his  pallid  form, 

And  glow — and  glow — till  forth  at  last  it  burst 

[nto  confirmed,  broad,  and  glorious  day  ! 
Lor.  You  loved,  and  he  did  love  % 
Mar.  To  say  he  did, 

Were  to  affirm  what  oft  his  eyes  avouch'd, 

What  many  an  action  testified — and  yet — 

What  wanted  confirmation  of  his  tongue. 

But  if  he  loved — it  brought  him  not  content ! 

'Twas  now  abstraction — now  a  start — anon 

A  pacing  to  and  fro — anon,  a  stillness, 

As  naught  remain'd  of  life,  save  life  itself, 

And  feeling,  thought,  and  motion,  were  extinct! 

... 

Then  all  again  was  action  !  Disinclined 

To  converse,  save  he  held  it  with  himself; 

Which  oft  he  did,  in  moody  vein  discoursing, 

And  ever  and  anon  invoking  Honor, 

As  some  high  contest  there  were  pending,  'twixt 

TJimself  and  him,  wherein  her  aid  he  needed. 

Lor.  This  spoke  impediment ;  or  he  was  bound 
By  promise  to  another  ;  or  had  friends 
Whom  it  behoved  him  to  consult,  and  doubted  ; 
Dr  'twixt  you  lay  disparity  too  wide 
For  love  itself  to  leap. 

Mar.  I  saw  a  struggle, 
But  knew  not  what  it  was. — I  wondered  still, 
That  what  to  me  was  all  content,  to  him 
Was  all  disturbance  ;  but  my  turn  did  come. 
At  length  he  talked  of  leaving  us  ;  at  length 
He  fixed  the  parting  day — but  kept  it  not — 
)  how  my  heart  did  bound  ! — Then  first  I  knew 
It  had  been  sinking.    Deeper  still  it  sank 


ICXWE  Il.j 


THE  WIFE. 


15 


When  next  he  fixed  to  go ;  and  sank  it  then 
To  bound  no  more  !    He  went. 

Lor.  To  follow  him, 
You  came  to  Mantua  'I 

Mar.  What  could  I  do  1 — 
Cot,  garden,  vineyard,  rivulet,  and  wood, 
Lake,  sky,  and  mountain,  went  along  with  him,— 
Could  I  remain  behind  1    My  father  found 
My  heart  was  not  at  home  ;  he  loved  his  child, 
And  asked  me.  one  day,  whither  we  should  go  ] 
I  said,  '  to  Mantua.'    I  follow'd  him 
To  Mantua  !  to  breathe  the  air  he  breathed, 
To  walk  upon  the  ground  he  walked  upon, 
To  look  upon  the  things  he  look'd  upon, 
To  look,  perchance,  on  him  !  perchance  to  hear  him 
To  touch  him  !  never  to  be  known  to  him, 
Till  he  was  told,  I  lived  and  died  his  love. 

Ttor.  I  pray  you,  Signor,  how  do  you  get  on  1 
I  see  you  play  the  woman  well  as  I, 
And,  sooth  to  say,  the  eye  did  never  weep 
In  which  her  story  could  not  find  a  tear  ! 
How  get  you  on  1  indite  you  word  for  word 
As  she  delivers  it  ]    How's  this  !    The  page 
As  blank  as  first  you  found  it ! — all  our  pains 
Have  gone  to  lose  our  time. 

Leon.  I  have  a  gift 
Of  memory,  Signor,  which  belongs  to  few. 
What  once  I  hear,  stands  as  a  written  page 
Before  me  ;  which,  if  asked,  I  can  repeat 
True  to  the  very  letter.    You  shall  have 
A  proof  of  this.    I  have  a  friend  or  two 
I  fain  would  snatch  a  word  with — that  despatched 
I'll  meet  you  at  the  duke's,  and  bring  with  me 
The  damsel's  story,  word  for  word  set  down, 
And  win  your  full  content ;  or  give  you  leave 
To  brand  me  an  impostnr,  or  aught  else 
A  man  should  blush  to  pass  for.    Will  you  trust  me  1 

Lor.  I  will. 

Leon.  You  may,  for  you  shall  ne'er  repent  you. 
I'll  bring  you  aid  you  little  count  upon.  [^4s/cfe.]    [Exit,  L 

Ant.  Nay,  nephew,  urge  your  friend  to  stay.  A  space 
You  have  for  brief  refreshment  :  and,  in  sooth, 


THE  WIFE. 


[Act  ! 


Yoi  wait  it,  who,  from  travel  just  alighted, 
Must  needs  to  business  go. 

Lor.  Detain  not  him  ; 
Some  needful  avocations  call  upon  him. 
1  wait  your  pleasure. 

Ant.  Daughter,  come. 
Some  effort  has  it  cost  to  tell  your  story, 
But  profit  comes  of  it ; — your  cause  is  strong. 
Your  vows,  which  virtually  are  another's, 
Heaven  'doth  itself  forbid  you  give  the  Count ! 
Is't  not  so,  nephew  ? 

Lor.  There  I'll  found  the  plea, 
Which  to  the  conscience  of  the  Duke  I'll  put. 
Knows  he — whom,  at  his  death  (which  I'm  advised 
Took  place  in  Mantua)  your  father  named 
Your  guardian — knows  the  commissary  this, 
Which  thou  hast  now  related  1 

Mar.  Not  that  I  know  of. 
My  father's  death  was  sudden. — Long  time  since 
He  and  the  commissary  were  acquaintance  ; 
What  passed  between  them,  save  the  testament 
Which  left  me  ward  unto  the  commissary, 
I  am  a  stranger  to. 

Lor.  Since  you  came  hither 
Have  you  seen  him,  for  sake  of  whom  you  came  1 

Mar.  No! 

Lor.  Nor  hast  a  clue,  direct  or  indirect, 
To  find  him  out  ? 

Mar.  No,  Signor. 

Lor.  And  how  long 
Have  you  sojourned  in  Mantua  1 

Mar.  Two  years. 

Lor.  And  is  your  love  the  same  ] 

Mar.  Am  I  the  same  1 

Lor.  Such  constancy  should  win  a  blessing. 
Ant.  Yes  ! 

knd.  strange  as  'tis,  what  seems  to  us  affliction 

Is  oft  a  hand  that  helps  us  to  our  wish. 

So  may  it  fall  with  thee — if  heaven  approves! 

L  Enunt. 

END  OP  ACT  1 


CMS  l.j 


THE  WIFE. 


17 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.— Hall  of  Justice  in  the  Duke's  Pel  ace. 

On  one  side  Bartolo,  Bernardo,  Carlo  and  others  ;  on 
the  other ,  Lords  and  Ladies,  fyc.  fyc. 

Bar.  Silence,  Signers  1  Keep  order  !  The  parties  in 
the  cause  are  coming — here  they  are  ! 

Enter  Mariana  leaning  on  Antonio,  attended  by  Lorenzo; 
after  them  the  Count  Florio,  and  various  Doctors  of  the 
Law. 

Bar  That  is  the  maiden,  and  that  the  curate  upon  whom 
she  leans. 

Ber.  And  where's  the  Count  ] 

Bar.  Yonder,  surrounded  by  the  Doctors  of  the  Law. 
Ber.  The  maid  is  very  fair. 

Bar.  Yes,  for  a  burgher's  daughter.  [Flourish  of 
Drum  and  Trumpet.]  Hush  !  the  duke  approaches.  The 
cause  will  straight  come  on. 

Enter  the  Duke  Ferrardo  Gq^zaga  and  attendants,  u.  e.r 
The  whole  assembly  rise. 

Fer.  Your  seats  !  your  seats  !  [  The  assembly  sit. 

Bring  on  this  cause  !  Who  answers  for  our  friend, 
The  Count  1 

Advocate.    My  lord,  so  please  you,  I. 

Fer.  Proceed. 

Advocate.  The  question  lies  between  the  Count  an  3  this 
The  guardian  of  the  maid — whose  fro  ward  act 
Your  highness  is  possess'd  of — on  the  one  side ; 
The  maid  herself,  and  that  the  reverend  man, 
Who  countenance  doth  lend  unto  that  act, 
TJpon  the  other.    Hereon  founds  the  count 
His  right  unto  the  maiden's  hand. — The  will 
And  promise  of  her  guardian,  unto  whom 
Behoves  her  choice  to  bow — for  choice  herself 
The  maid  of  right,  hath  none — This  were  the  case. 
Proposed  her  guardian  to  affiance  her 
T.->  one  in  rank  as  far  beneath  the  maid 
B* 


13 


THE  WIFE. 


Acrll 


As  is  the  maid  beneath  ihe  count,    But  lo, 

The  difference  !    By  this  alliance  does 

She  gain  a  consort  of  a  rank  so  high 

And  wealth  so  broad,  he  were  pretender  fit 

To  hand  of  any  maid  in  Italy  ! — 

Such  is  our  cause.    In  the  first  place  the  right 

To  give  away  the  maid  ;  and  in  the  next 

That  right  exerted  for  her  highest  good. 

Bar.  He  is  a  good  spokesman — the  duke  delibeitites; 

Lor.  My  friend  is  lost,  almost  as  soon  as  found. 
He  has  deceived  me.    No  !  he  comes  at  last, 
And  keeps  indeed  his  promise,  if  he  brings 
Such  friends  as  these  to  back  us  ! 

Enter  Leonardo  G-onzaga  as  clerk  to  Lorenzo,  followed 
by  several  persons  of  distinction,  u.  r. 

Bar.  Observe  you,  Signors  !  At  e  not  those  who  just  en- 
tered relatives  and  friends  of  him  that  were  the  duke,  had 
not  mishap  stepped  in  'twixt  him  and  his  father's  seat  1 

Fcr.  They  are. 

Bar.  Do  they  abet  the  maid  1  You  see  they  take  their 
station  round  her : — they  are  not  wont  of  late  to  frequent 
the  palace. 

Ber.  Peace  !  the  duke  is  going  to  speak. 

Fcr.  Count,  on  what  plea  claim  you  the  maiden's  hand  ? 

Flo.  Her  guardian  hath  affianced  her  to  me. 

Fer.  Speak  you,  her  guardian, — states  the  count  the 
fact  ? 

Hugo.  He  does,  so  please  your  highness  ! 
Fer.  What's  her  age  1 
Hugo.  She  lacks  a  year  of  her  majoritv. 
Fer.  Her  rank] 

Hugo.  Her  father  was  a  burgher. 

Fer.  Wealth 
Has  she  been  left  ? 

Hugo.  What  charily  enjoy'd, 
From  manual  labor  might,  perhaps,  exempt  her. 

Fer.  And  stoops  the  count  so  low  to  be  despis'd— * 
Rejected — spurned  1    Let  the  maid  be  given 
Back  to  her  guardian's  custody  ;  and  if 
Obedience  be  refused,  let  hira  enforce  it ! 
The  cause  is  judged  ! 


SoCWE  I.] 


THE  WIFE. 


If 


Lor.  Ycur  highness'  pardon,  but 
The  other  side's  to  hear. 

Fer.  Who's  he  that  speaks  1 

Lor.  The  counsel  for  the  maiu. 

Fer.  Let  him  be  wise, 
And  not  gainsay  our  pleasure.    It  is  told  ! 
The  cause  is  over — finally  adjudg'd. 

Lor.  How  far  your  highness'  power  extends    know  % 
Yet  though  it  reach  unto  my  life,  that  life 
I  hold  to  be  my  good,  and  husband  not 
A  minute  longer  than  it  ministers 
Unto  mine  honor's  profitable  use. 
The  duty  which  I  should  discharge  in  vain, — 
Not  through  its  own  demerit,  but  defect 
[n  him  whose  will  availeth  more  than  right, — 
[  leave  undone  ; — but  'gainst  the  power  protest 
Which  makes  me — servant  unto  justice — slave 
Unto  oppression.    For  the  pangs  that  wring 
That  maiden's  heart,  be  answerable  thou, 
STot  I  ! 

Ant.  Your  highness — 

Fer.  Peace  !    I  will  not  hear  thee,  father  ! 

Ant.  Then  heaven  will  hear  me  !    1  do  call  on  it 
For  judgment  on  the  man  who  wrongs  this  maid  ! 
And  sure  as  I  do  call  'twill  answer  me, — 
And  speak  to  thee — be  thou  that  wicked  man — 
When  power  thou  hast  no  longer  to  cry  '  peace !' 

Fer.  That  wicked  man  ! 

Ant.  O  poverty  of  earth — 
That  men  do  deeds  which  w7in  them  evil  names, 
And  spurn  the  names,  but  not  the  deeds  which  win  thrai 
What  truth  instructeth  me  shall  I  not  speak  1 
Suffer' d  the  maid  from  any  violence 
Should  he  not  die  ]      What  callest  thou  the  deed 
Which  would  condemn  her  to  a  loathed  bed  1 
Think'st  thou  there's  virtue  in  constrained  vows, 
Half  utter'd — soulless — falter'd  fc*  th  in  fear, 
To  purge  the  nauseousness  of  such  a  deed, 
That  heaven  won't  smell  the  damning  odour  on't  1 
And  if  there  is,  then  truth  and  grace  are  naught  ! 
Then  sanctity  is  naught !  yea,  Heaven  itself! 
And  in  its  empyreal  essence  lies 


20  THE  WIFE.  [Act  II 

No  savour  of  its  sweetness  1 
Fer.  Peace,  I  say  ! 

Ant.  Thou  can'st  not  bid  the  thunder  hold  its  peace — 
Why  criest  thou  peace  to  me  ]    Nay,  bid  me  speak — 
That  thou  may'st  bear  to  hear  the  thunder  speak — 
The  herald,  earth-accredited  of  heaven — 
Which  when  men  hear,  they  think  on  heaven's  king 
And  run  the  items  o'er  of  the  account 
To  which  he's  sure  to  call  them. 

Fer.  Dread  my  power  ! 

Ant.  Dread  thou  the  power,  from  which  thou  hold'st 
thy  power  ! 

Proud  man,  I  brave  thee  where  thou  sit'st,  and  in 
The  ear  of  earth  and  heaven  denounce  the  sentence 
Which  gives  that  injured  maid  to  violence  ! 

Fer.  I'll  hear  no  more  ! — The  cause  is  judged — the  maid 
Her  rightful  guardian  take  ! 

Mar.  [Advancing  to  ce?itre.]  And  if  he  does 
He  takes  a  corse  !    Lo  !  death  is  at  my  lips  ; 

[  Taking  a  small  vial '  from  her  bosom. 
The  hand  or  foot  that  offers  to  approach, 
Commits  a  murder  !    In  this  vial  bides 
The  bane  of  fifty  lives  !  pass  but  a  drop, 
Were  now  the  sexton  told  to  dig  my  grave, 
Were  now  his  foot  upon  the  shovel  set, 
'Ere  he  began,  I  should  be  ready  for  it ! 
Who  stirs  ]    Lo,  here  I  sink  upon  my  knee  ! 
Or  let  the  count  his  hateful  suit  forego, 
Or  let  my  guardian  his  consent  revoke, 
Or  let  the  duke  recall  his  foul  decree, 
Or  hence,  by  mine  own  limbs,  I  never  rise  ! 

Fer.  Why  to  the  count  this  strong  repugnance,  gi*l  ] 

Mar.  Give  thou  thy  oath  that  none  shall  stir,  Til  speak 

Fer.    I  give  it  thee. 

Mar.  I  am  a  maid  betrothed  ! 
All  but  the  rites,  a  wife!    A  wedded  heart 
Allho'  unwedded  hand  !    Reflect  on  that ! 
Making  me  give  my  hand  unto  the  count, 
You  make  me  give  what  is  another's  right :  — 
Constraining  me  to  an  unrighteous  act, 
And  doing  violence  to  heaven  itself, 
Which  curses  lips,  that  move  'gainst  consciences  ! 


SciffEl.]  THE  WIFE.  2J 

Fer.  Lives  ho  of  whom  you  speak  in  Mantua  t 

Mar.  In  Mantua  he  told  me  he  did  live. 

Fer.  What !  know  you  not  the  place  of  his  sojourn  1 

Mar.  Yes  !  where  he  still  sojourns,  where'er  he  is  ! 

Fsr.  What  place  is  that  1 

Mar.  My  heart  !     Tho'  travels  he 
By  land  or  sea — though  I'm  in  Mantua, 
And  he  as  distant  as  the  pole  away — 
1  look  but  into  that  and  there  he  is, 
It's  king  enthron'd,  with  every  thought,  wish,  will, 
In  waiting  at  his  feet ! 

Fer.  This  is  the  mood, 
The  phantasy  of  girlhood  !    Do  we  hold 
Our  power  of  suff'rance  of  a  baby  maid, 
Who  mocks  us  with  a  threat  she  durst  not  keep  ? 
Secure  her  1 

Mar.  ho,  the  phial's  at  my  lips  ! 
Let  him  who  would  do  a  murder,  do  it ! 
Had  he  a  thousand  hands  to  wait  upon  thee, 
The  slightest  movement  of  this  little  one, 
Would  make  them  useless  all ! 

Leon.  My  Mariana ! 

Fer.  She  has  dropt  the  phial. 

Leon.  [  Coming  forward.]  Stir  not  on  your  livea  ! 
My  Mariana  ! 

Mar.  'Tis  he! 

Leon.  It  is,  my  love  ! 
'Tis  he  who  won  thy  heart,  not.  seeking  it  ! 
'Tis  he  whose  heart  thou  won'st,  not  knowing  it ! 
Who  saw  thee  rich  in  all  but  fortune's  gifts, 
And — servant  unto  them,  though  lord  of  them,-— 
Balanced  their  poor  esteem  against  thy  wealth, 
Which  fortune  could  not  match  !  Accountable 
To  others,  never  I  revealed  the  love 
I  did  not  see  the  way  for  thee  to  bless, 
As  only  thou  would'st  bless  it !    Now,  that  way 
Is  clear  !  is  open  !  lies  before  my  sight, 
Without  impediment,  or  any  thing 
Which,  with  the  will,  I  cannot  overleap  ! 
And  now,  my  love  before  !  my  love  till  now  ! 
And  still  my  love  ! — now,  now  I  call  thee  wife, 
And  wed  thee  here — here — here — in  Mantua  j 


22 


THE  WIFE. 


f  Act  II 


Fer.  Remove  that  slave,  whc  knows  not  where  he  is  ! 
Leon.  Descend,  great  duke,  who  know'st  not  wheie 

thou  sit'st ! 
Fer.  Where  do  I  sit  1 
Jjcon.  Why,  in  thy  cousin's  seat ! 
Fer.  He's  dead ! 

Leon.  He's  not !    He  lives,  and  claims  his  seat, 
Backed  by  his  kinsmen,  friends,  and  every  one 
That  owns  a  loyal  heart  in  Mantua  !        [Throws  off  his 
Do  you  not  know  me,  cousin  1  gown. 

Fer.  Leonardo  ! 

Leon.  Six  years  have  we  been  strangers,  but  I  see 
You  know  my  father's  Jface,  if  not  your  cousin's  1 

Fer.  I  do,  and  yield  to  you  that  father's  seat. 

Leon.  Cousin,  the  promptness  of  your  abdication 
Invests  it  with  a  grace  to  which  we  bow. 
We  '11  spare  your  sight  the  pain  of  our  accession, 
And  pray  that,  with  the  parties  in  this  cause — 
(I  mean  the  count  and  guardian  of  the  maid) — 
You  now  withdraw,  and  at  your  former  mansion 
Wait  intimation  of  our  further  pleasure. 
I  would  not  have  you  speak,  so  please  you,  now  : 
When  we  confer,  it  must  be  privily. 
Yet,  out  of  honor  to  our  common  blood, 
Well  as  in  pledge  of  no  unkind  intent, 
Your  hand  before  you  go  !  [They  shake  ha?t(ts 

Fer.  Nay,  let  me  speak 
At  least  my  thanks,  your  highness,  and  my  welcome, 

[Exeunt  Ferrardo,  Florio,  and  Hugo,  i.. 

Ant.  Rise,  Signors,  rise  ! 
Live  Leonardo,  Duke  of  Mantua  !  [Flourish. 

Leon.  We  thank  you,  friends  !  This  welcome  is  of  the 
heart. 

For  you  we  take  this  seat.    Thou  reverend  man, 
Be  confessor  unto  the  duke  of  Mantua ; 
Thou  man  of  law  and  honor,  be  his  friend, 
And  advocate  of  state ;  and  both  of  you 
Lead  hither  that  abstracted  maid  !    But  no  ! 
That  office  should  be  mine.    |  Descends.]    In  Italy 
Shines  there  a  brow  on  which'  my  coronet 
Could  find  so  proud  a  seat  1    My  Mariana, 
Wilt  be  my  bride  1    Nay,  do  not  tax  thy  tongu« 


8CX9K  II.] 


THE  WIFE. 


23 


With  that  thy  looks  have  scarce  the  power  to  speak! 
Come,  share  my  seat  with  me  !    Come,  Mariana ! 
The  consort  of  the  Duke  of  Mantua  ! 

[She  faints  in  his  arms  as  the  scene  closes. 

Scene  II. — A  room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Cosmo  and  Courier,  l. 

Cos.  The  duke  %  which  duke  1  I  know  not  which  ;  w« 
had  two  within  the  last  ten  minutes  ;  I  know  not  which 
duke  it  is  that  thou  wantest. 

Cou.  I  tell  thee,  the  duke  of  Mantua. 

Cos.  Is  thy  business  public  or  private  1 

Cou.  Dost  thou  not  see  I  come  from  Rome1?  There 
are  great  matters  on  foot,  which  it  behoves  the  Duke  to 
know  ;  and  herein,  if  I  mistake  not,  he  is  apprised  of  them. 

Cos.  Nay  ;  then,  thy  business  is  public,  and  of  course 
concerns  the  reigning  duke. 

Cou.  Of  course  it  does. 

Cos.  I'll  bring  thee  to  him. 

Cou.  Lead  on  !  [Crosses  to  c. 

Enter  Bartolo,  Bernardo,  and  Marco,  meeting  them,  r 
Bar.  Signor  Cosmo  ! 

Cos.  Don't  stop  me,  Signor  Bartolo,  I  am  in  haste. 
Bar.  Nay,  a  word — only  a  word.    Who  is  that  1 
Cos.  A  courier  from  Rome. 

Bar.  I  was  right,  Bernardo.  Save  you,  Signor.  You 
come,  I  hear,  from  Rome.    How  are  they  all  at  Rome  % 

Cou.    Well,  Signor — all  that  I  am  acquainted  with. 

Bar.  They  have  a  great  deal  of  news  in  Rome  % 

Cou.  Sufficient,  Signor. 

Bar.  One  likes  to  hear  the  news. 

Cou.  I  trouble  myself  little  about  it. 

Bar.  That  is  because  'tis  your  vocation  to  hear  it.  No- 
body is  in  love  with  his  vocation.  Now,  'tis  the  reverse 
with  me.  I  mind  the  news  as  much  as  I  mind  my  meais. 
Pray  you,  Signor,  have  mercy  upon  a  hungry  man,  and 
tell  me  the  news  from  Rome. 

Cou.  Great  news,  Signor, — there's  going  to  be  a  war. 

Bar.  A  war  !  A  war,  Bernardo, — Cosmo  : — «md  pray 
you  Signor,  with  what  power  are  they  going  to  war  ? 


THE  WIFE. 


Cou.  With  the  French. 
Bar.  The  devil ! 

Cou.  You  will  have  a  fine  opportunity  for  showing  your 
7alor,  Signor. 

Bar.  I  thank  you,  Signor.  I  never  was  an  ostentatious 
man.  I  am  content  to  be  a  man  of  valor — I  don't  care  to 
show  it ;  but  I  thank  you  for  the  news.  Come  along, 
Bernardo — Carlo.  A  war,  Signors,  a  war  !  What  a  glo- 
rious thing  is  a  war !    There's  news  !  I  Exeunt  l 

Scene  III. —  The  Vestibule  before  the  Ducal  Palace. 

Enter  St.  Pierre,  l. 

St.  Pier.  Here  be  my  seat  upon  the  palace  steps, 
Although  they  hang  me  from  the  portico! — 
Have  a  heart,  Poverty,  thou  hast  naught  to  lose — 
Nor  land,  nor  mansion,  nor  habiliments, 
That  thou  should'st  play  the  craven  !    That  thou  call'st 
Thy  life — what  is  it  1    Hunger  ! — Nakedness  ! 
A  lodging  'neath  the  eaves  !  ten  scornful  looks 
For  one  of  pity  ;  and  that  one  a  proof 
That  thou'rt  an  anguish  to  the  aching  sight ! 
Then  what  car'st  thou  for  cuffs  1    Nay,  cuff  again, 
That  they  may  fall  the  heavier  ! — satisfied 
That  he,  who  brains  thee,  does  thee,  Poverty, 
A  thousand  times  the  good,  he  does  thee  ill ! — 
Come — keep  the  portal  of  the  mighty  duke 
Who  made  thee  what  thou  art ;  nor  let  him  pass 
'Till  from  his  fear  thou  wring'st  an  alms,  or  else 
A  quick  release  obtainest  from  his  wrath  ! 

Per.  [  Without.]  Be  sure  thou  keep'st  the  hour 

St.  Pier.  Talk  of  the  fiend, 
They  say,  and  here  he  comes  !  here  comes  the  duke. 

Fcr.  [Entering.]  Hoa  !  clear  the  vestibule  ! 

St.  Pier.  Great  Dtbke,  descend  ! 
No  retinue  doth  stop  your  gracious  way ! 
Here  is  no  throng, — for  poverty  sits  here, 
Craving  a  foot  of  your  fair  palace  steps, 
For  lack  of  better  resting  place. 

Fe) .  Who  are  you  ] 
What  do  you  here  % 

St.  Pier.  Wait,  mighty  Duke,  an  aim*  I 


Scute  III.] 


THE  W.FE. 


I  could  not  ask  the  humble  craftsman  one, 
I  used  to  curt'  him  ;  nor  the  tradesman  one, 
I  used  to  make  him  doff  his  cap  to  me; — 
Nor  yet  the  merchant  one,  he  gave  me  way, 
Or  I  gave  him  my  shoulder  ; — nor  the  courtier. 
My  hilt  I  handled  soon  as  he  touched  his  ; — 
In  brief,  1  passed  by  all  degrees  of  men, 
To  beg  an  alms  of  the  most  gracious  duke 
Fer.  Here  ! 

St.  Pier.  What !  a  florin  1  give  it  to  the  streec, 
For  the  abased  eye  of  vagantry. 
I  make  no  livelihood  of  raggedness  ! 

Fer.  Scorn'st  thou  my  gift  1 

St.  Pier.  Thy  gift  and  thee,  great  Duke ' 
Nay,  frown  not !  choler  doth  disturb  digestion 
And  that  would  mar  thy  afternoon's  repast ; 
Leave  wrath  to  me,  who  have  not  tasted  food 
Since  Wednesday  last,— nor  look  for  meal  to-day 

Fer.  Why,  that  would  buy  thee  five  ! 

St.  Pier.  What  were  five  meals 
To  starve  anew  !    I  should  not  light  on  thee 
A  second  time  to  beg  another  alms  ! 
Thou  would'st  take  care  to  shun  me  !  better  stat  v« 
Outright, — for,  saving  thee,  most  gracious  duke. 
There's  not  a  man  in  Mantua  I'd  stoop 
To  ask  a  ducat  of. 

Fer.  Well,  there's  a  ducat. 

St.  Pier.  It  will  not  do. 

Fer.  What  hoa  there  ! 

St.  Pier.  Softly,  duke  ! 
Hush  !  better  far  that  we  confer  alone, 
For  thy  sake  !  mark  ! — for  thy  sake,  gracious  duke! 

Fer.  What  means  the  villain  1 

St.  Pier.  Right,  duke,  that's  my  name  ! 
What  do  I  mean  1    I'll  tell  thee  what  I  mean. 
My  wardrobe  wants  replenishing  ;  it  puffs 
The  wind ;  my  hat  is  like  to  lose  its  crown  ; 
My  robe  is  all  the  covering  I  have  ; 
My  shoes  are  minus  nearly  half  the  soles  ; 
And  then  I  fain  would  change  my  lodgings,  duke, 
Which,  sooth  to  say,  is  e'en  the  open  street — 
Less  spacious  would  content  me  ;  last  of  all 


26 


THE  WIFE. 


(Act  II 


I  would  oe  master  of  a  larder,  duke, 

Would  serve  me,  at  the  shortest,  good  a  month, 

That  I  might  Jive  so  long  at  ease,  and  see 

If  aught  turned  up  would  make  it  worth  my  while 

To  shake  a  hand  with  the  fair  world  again, 

And  live  on  terms  with  it.    Most  gracious  duke, 

Give  me  a  hundred  ducats  ! 

Fer.  Dost  thou  think 
To  rob  me  at  the  palace  gates  ! 

St.  Pier.  Who  robs 
Provides  him  weapons.    I  have  none,  great  duke, 
Nor  pistol,  rapier,  poinard, — not  a  knife  : 
I  parted  with  them  one  by  one  for  food. 
For  weoks  have  they  been  provender  to  me  ! 
Think  upon  that,  great  duke,  that  at  a  meal 
Spend'st  twenty  times  their  product ;  and,  so  please  you 
Give  me  a  hundred  ducats. 

Fer.  Thou  art  mad  ! 

St.  Pier.  No,  by  St.  Jago  !  try  me  !  I  have  the  use 
Of  my  wits.    I'll  neither  leap  into  a  flood, 
Nor  run  into  the  fire  !    I  do  know 
The  day  of  the  week,  the  month  of  the  year,  the  year; 
I'll  tell  you  which  are  fast  days,  and  which  are  not ; 
But  that's  no  wonder — I  have  kept  so  many. 
To  balance  this,  I  '11  tell  you  the  feast  days  too  ! 
I'll  write  and  cipher  for  you  : — finally, 
I'll  give  you  all  the  fractions  and  their  sums, 
Lie  in  a  hundred  ducats  ! 

Servants  enter  from  the  Palace,  r. 

Fer.  Seize  him  !  [  They  advance, 

St.  Pier.  Stop 
Till  you  have  learn'd  my  name  !    Imports  you  much 
To  know  !  'tis  affix'd,  most  gracious  duke, 
To  certain  documents  which  only  wait 
Your  leave  to  see  the  light. 

Fer.  What  documents  ] 

St.  Pier.  Shall  these  o'erhear,  or  private  be  our  speech  1 
Fer.  \  To  servants.]  You  may  withdraw  a  pace  or  two. 
St.  Pier.  You  see, 
Great  duke,  I  am  not  mad. 
Fer.  What  documents  X 


Sent  III.] 


THE  WIFE. 


St.  Pier.  One  memorandum  for  a  hundred  crowns, 
For  whipping  one  that  did  offend  your  grace  : — 
I  paid  me  with  the  pleasure  of  the  task, 
Nor  asked  the  hire,  but  kept  the  document. 
Another,  for  enticing  to  a  haunt 
Of  interdicted  play,  a  wealthy  heir  ; — 
I  scorned  the  hire  for  that, — though,  shame  to  say  it, 
I  did  not  scorn  to  earn  it — but  I  kept 
The  document. — A  third — 

Fer.  Enough — St.  Pierre  ! 

St.  Pier.  Aha !  you  know  me  now  ] 

Fer.  How  changed  thou  art, — 
I  ne'er  had  known  thee  ! 

St.  Pier.  It  were  strange  if  want 
Look'd  like  abundance — which  was  never  yet 
Akin  to  it. 

Fer.  Here,  take  my  purse  ! 

St.  Pier.  'Tis  rich- 
Holds  it  a  hundred  ducats  1 

Fer.  Twice  the  sum — 
I  want  thee — that  suffice. 

St.  Pier.  That  does  suffice  ! 

Fer.  Get  thee  habiliments,  more  rich  than  these,— 
Appointments,  too,  fit  to  consort  with  them, 
And  come  thou  to  mine  ancient  mansion  straight. 

St.  Pier.  I  must  dine  first. 

Fer.  Eat  sparingly. 

St.  Pier.  Indeed  ! 
I  see  thou  want'st  me  then.    I  '11  go  and  dine. 

Fer.  Thy  tears  are  not  a  pledge  for  continence. 

St.  Pier.  I  '11  dine  upon  a  crust — nay,  fear  me  not — 
What  time  am  I  to  take  in  all  1 — two  hours  ] 

Fer.  The  half  might  serve  thee. 

St.  Pier.  Well :  we  '11  say  the  half— 
The  quarter  will  suffice  me,  if  thou  wilt. 

Fer.  Make  it  as  brief  as  may  be. 

St.  Pier.  Work  that's  sweet 
Is  quickly  done — I'll  come  in  half  an  hour,  [Exit 

Fer.  That  which  had  been  my  bane  an  hour  ago 
Is  now  my  medicine  !    This  fellow  owns 
A  quick  and  subtle  wit ;  a  reckless  daring; 
And  hath  a  winning  tongu6  withal,  and  'haviour ; 


28 


THE  WIFE. 


Act  III 


Easy  of  conscience,  too — yet  still  contrived 

To  keep  some  credit;  with  the  court.    "  I  know 

"  The  use  of  him.    He  has  been  mine,  and  mine 

M  He  needs  must  be  again  !    So  !  Suddenly 

u  He  quitted  Mantua,  and  left  with  none 

"  A  clue  tc  find  the  cause, — nor  lacked  he  then 

"  Wardrobe  or  ducat.    Misery  has  changed  him — 

"  Her  work  abundance  quickly  shall  undo." 

I  know  the  use  of  him,  and  I  will  use  him.  [Exit,  L 

"Enter  Couxt  Florio,  l. 

"  Now,  count,  what  brings  you  hither  ? 

u  Flo.  News,  my  lord, 
"  Ensures  my  welcome  !    A  brief  honeymoon 
u  Hath  fate  decreed  your  cousin  :  scarce  he  takes 
"  The  seat  were  fitter  yours,  and  weds  his  bride, 
"  Ere  comes  advice  the  states  must  take  the  field 
14  Against  the  power  of  France. 

"  Fer.  Good  news,  indeed  ! 

"  Flo.  Forthwith  he  hies  to  Rome — 

"  Fer.  Most  welcome  news  ! 

"  Flo.  And,  by  entreaty  of  his  council,  you — 
"  As  next  in  rank  and  lineage — are  appointed 
,:  Our  regent  in  his  absence. 

"  Fer.  That's  the  best  news  ! 

"  Flo.  His  heart,  that  was  against  you,  softened 
'  By  prosperity,  or  by  your  ready  yielding, 
1  Or  giving  way  unto  the  sudden  exigence, 
"  He  offers  reconcilement  by  your  friends, 
M  And  straight  you  are  invited  to  his  presence. 

F"  er.  T  come  !    Great  news  !    I  thank  you — glo.ioue 
news  !"  [Exeunt,  \„ 

EXD   OF   ACT  II. 


ACT  III. 

Scexe  I. — An  apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Fekrardo  and  Florio,  l. 

Fer  Another  victory  !  t 
Flo.  So  the  rumor  runs. 


SCIHE  I.] 


THE  WIFE. 


29 


Fer.  Why,  fortune  plays  the  minion  to  him  !    D.  >es 

His  wish  not  only,  but  anticipates  it ! 

Chief  after  chief  she  thrusts  aside,  that  he 

May  head  the  war,  and,  when  he  takes  the  lead, 

Her  moody  favor,  wavering  before — 

Alternate  sun  and  cloud — shines  fully  forth 

With  strong  and  steady  beam.    Have  many  fallen  ] 

Flo.  A  host,  'tis  said,  on  either  side. 

Fer.  No  wound, 
No  hurt  for  him  ? 

Flo.  'Tis  so  reported. 

Fer.  Ha  ! 

Flo.  Tho'  twice  he  changed  his  charger — one  disabled, 

The  second  wounded  mortally  ! 

Fer.  And  he 
As  safe  as  sitting  in  his  ducal  chair  ! 
Why  dangers,  that  are  thorns  to  other  men, 
For  him  do  change  to  flowers! 

Flo.  The  duchess  still 
Persists  in  her  seclusion. 

Fer.  There  again 
['m  baffled  !  would  she  mingle  with  the  court, 
I'd  make  for  him  the  home  of  peace  what  fails 
The  field  of  war  to  prove.    I  know  my  cousin,— 
For  boyhood,  thoughtless,  often  shows  the  man 
Which  manhood,  wary,  hides.  A  sense  he  has, 
That's  sickly  tender  to  the  touch  of  shame. 
I  have  seen  him,  at  a  slight  imputed  fault 
Colour  to  flame — anon  grow  ashy  pale — 
The  dew  in  drops  upon  his  forehead  starting, 
His  tongue  without  its  use — his  mouth  agape— 
His  universal  frame  vacuity 
Of  action  and  of  power, — and  anon 
The  glare,  and  din,  and  tossing  of  the  tempest  1 
To  wound  his  honor  to  the  quick,  would  be 
To  sting  his  core  of  life  ! 

Flo.  Thou  couldst  not  hope 
To  wound  it  thro'  his  wife — "  whose  love  for  him, 
"  Gives,  in  his  absence,  all  things  to  neglect ! 

*  Her  bounding  palfrey  cannot  woo  her  forth  ! 

*  The  palace  vibrates  with  the  dance,  and  still 
**  She  keeps  her  lonely  cell.    You  talk  to  her 


30 


THE  WIFE. 


[Act  111 


"  Of  plays  and  shows — a  statue  lists  to  yo.i : 

"  She  visits  no  one — no  one  she  receives. 

"  What  chance  of  practising  upon  a  wife, 

"  Who,  for  an  only  absent  lord,  observes 

"  A  sterner  widowhood,  than  many  hold 

"  In  lienor  of  a  dead  one  !" — why  do  you  smile  ? 

Fer.  To  think,  to  what  account  a  little  art 
Might  turn  a  little  swerving,  in  a  case 
Of  self  denial,  carried  thus  like  her's 
To  the  admired  extreme  !    I  would  St.  Pierre 
Had  kept  his  restless  spirit  more  in  check, 
Paid  to  my  will  submission,  as  he  used, 
And  not  enlisted  in  my  cousin's  train, 
But  stopped  in  Mantua !    My  plans  were  laid, 
Were  sure,  and  long  ere  this  had  been  matured, 
But  for  his  wilfulness. 

Flo.  Of  what  avail 
Had  been  his  presence  here  1 

Fer.  I  should  have  found 
A  use  for  him.    Ne'er  yet  I  knew  the  ear 
He  could  not  keep  a  hold  of,  once  he  caught  it. 
That  fellow  with  his  tongue  has  won  more  hearts 
Than  any  twenty  men  in  Mantua, 

With  tongues,  and  forms,  and  faces  !  I  had  contriv'd 
To  throw  him  in  her  way. 

Flo.  There  were  no  chance — 

Fer.  I  know,  but  I  could  make  appearances 
Supply  the  place  of  facts — especially 
In  her  husband's  absence — so  that  confidence 
Itself  would  construe  guilt,  where  no  guilt  was  ! 
So  would  I  show  her  to  the  eyes  of  all, 
That,  though  she  were  the  snow  itself  new  fallen, 
Men  would  believe  her  spotted  ! 

Flo.  If  'tis  true 
That  he  was  charged  with  the  despatches  hithei 
Of  this  new  victory — 

Fer.  Saint  Pierre  1 

Flo.  Saint  Pierre. 

Fer.  'Tis  so  reported? 

Flo.  'Tis. 

Fer.  Then  proves  it  true, 
Before  he  is  an  hour  in  Mantua 


eslfc£.i  THK  WIFE.  31 

cle  must  be  stripped  of  every  ducat !  Mind, 

Of  that  must  thou  take  care  !  [Shouts. 

What  mean  those  shouts  ] 

Flo.  They  herald,  doubtless,  the  approach  of  him. 
That's  bearer  of  the  news. 

Fer.  If 'tis  Saint  Pierre, 
The  moment  he  alights,  away  with  him 
To  a  house  of  play — you  are  his  master — haste  ! 
Your  signal  he  will  answer  readily, 
As  doth  the  bird  of  game  his  challenger ! 

Flo.  I'll  do  my  best.  [Exit,  t. 

Fer.  So  do. — The  confessor  ! 
The  cards  come  round  to  me  !    A  score  to  one, 
I  hold  the  winning  hand.    His  reverence, 
I  have  contriv'd  to  make  at  last  my  friend. 
Your  churchman  dearly  loves  a  convertite, 
And  he  believes  me  his.    A  kindly  man, 
But,  once  resolv'd,  to  error  positive  ; — 
And  from  his  calling,  credulous  to  weakness 
Touching  the  proneness  of  the  flesh  to  sin — 
I  have  well  considered  him. 

Enter  Antonio,  r. 

Your  blessing,  father. 

Ant.  Thou  hast  it,  son. 

Fer.  Whence  come  you  now  ?    No  doubt 
From  the  performance  of  some  pious  deed — 
The  shriving  of  some  sin-oppressed  soul — 
The  soothing  of  some  sorrow-stricken  heart — 
Or  sweet  relieving  of  some  needy  child 
Of  merciless  adversity. 

Ant.  No,  my  son, — 
But  from  a  trespasser  that's  yet  unshriven  ; 
A  daughter  who  has  swerv'd,  and  on  whose  soul 
I  had  thought  as  soon  to  find  the  soil  of  sin 
As  tarnish  upon  new-refined  gold  !  * 
A  wife,  who  in  the  absence  of  her  lord, 
Lived  like  thy  cousin's  wife ;  with  means  to  bless 
Desires  incontinent ;  a  miracle 
Of  self-secluded,  lonely  chastity. 

Fer.  He  comes  in  the  very  vein  !  You  spoke  just  n?w 
Of  my  coufin's  wife.    There's  news  of  my  deai  cousin. 


32 


THB  WIFE. 


[Act  Ell 


And,  with  submission,  I  would  reccmraend 
Her  grace  to  show  herself  to  day.  Methinks. 
If  only  for  her  health,  she  keeps  herself 
Too  much  alone. 

Ant.  So  have  I  told  her  grace. 

Fer.  Indeed  !    I  marvel  that  she  perseveres 
in  the  face  of  our  admonishment  !    More  strict 
Would  she  be  thought,  than  you,  a  holy  man 
Would  counsel  her  to  be  1    Forgive  me,  father, 
If  'tis  uncharitable  in  me,  but 

I  never  loved  extremes  !    Your  constant  weather 
Is  still  the  moderate,  father.    Storms  and  calms 
Are  brief. 

Ant.  You  are  right,  my  son. 

Fer.  I  had  been  pleased 
Less  had  she  shown  her  fondness  for  her  lord. 
Love,  of  its  own  fidelity  assured, 
Ne'er  studies  the  display  on't ! 

Ant.  Nay,  she  loves 
Her  lord. 

Fer.  And  yet  'tis  the  predicament 
Of  love  to  wane  upon  possession.  Where 
I  see  much  guard,  I  ever  do  infer 
Some  doubt ;  1  do  not  mean  deliberate — 
Instinctive  only.    Passion  is  passion,  father ; 
Earth,  which  the  nigher  we  draw  to  heaven,  the  moie 
We  cast  away. 

Ant.  You  reason  well,  my  son. 

Fer.  I  would  not  have  you  think  I  doubt  her  grace  ! 
Yet  had  she  more  confided  in  herself, 
Lived  like  herself — appeared  among  the  court — 
Courteous  to  all — particular  to  none, 
Save  those  to  whom,  next  to  her  lord,  she  owes 
Her  highest  duty — my  reliance  on  her 
Were  stronger  !    Is't  uncharitable,  father, 
To  say  so  ] — speak,  and  frankly. — Wherefore  else 
Put  I  my  heart  into  your  saintly  hands  ? 

Ant.  Nay,  son — I  think  you  speak  in  charity, 
As  one  who  blames  through  love.    We'll  see  the  duchess, 
And  jointly  recommend  to  her  a  life 
Of  less  severe  restraint. 

Fer.  I  thank  your  reverence  I 


Scene  II.] 


THE  WIFE. 


33 


You  know  1  owe  her  grace  some  small  amends, 
And  trust  me,  father,  gladly  would  I  make  them ! 

[Exeunt,  o 

Scene  II. — Ante-room  in  the  chamber  of  the  Duche*y  A 

window  over-looking  the  street 

Enter  Floribel. 

Flor.  A  merry  life  for  twenty-one  to  lead, 
And  in  a  woman  too  !  from  morn  till  night 
Mew'd  in  a  lonely  tower  !    Heigho  !    It  is 
My  lady's  will.    I  would  she  had  been  born 
In  Mantua,  where  wives  their  husbands  love 
In  reason  !    Well ! — We'll  live  in  hope  she'll  learn 
In  time.    I  used  to  lead  a  dozen  kinds 
Of  life  in  a  day  ! — Now,  in  a  dozen  days 
I  lead  but  one  !    Ere  breakfast,  was  a  nun  ; 
Then  play'd  the  housewife  ;  after  that,  to  horse  ! 
Then,  dinner  o'er,  a  Naiad  on  the  lake, 
Floating  to  music  !    Evening  changed  the  scene 
Again  ;  and  night  again, — which  I  did  close 
In  my  balcony,  list'ning  by  the  moon 
The  melting  cadence  of  the  serenade  ! 
Now  morning,  evening,  noon  and  night,  are  naught, 
But  morning,  evening,  noon  and  night.    No  change 
Save  in  their  times  and  names  !    What  I  get  up 
I  last  throughout  the  day,  and  so  lie  down, 
The  solitary  lady  of  the  duchess  ! 
And  how  I  bear  it  ?    Wonderfully  !  Past 
Belief!    I'll  do't  no  longer  !    If  I  do, 
Then  never  was  I  born  in  Mantua.  [Shouts 
What's  that  ]  the  city  all  astir  ! — a  crowd 
Before  the  palace — I  will  ope  the  casement : 
I  feel  as  I  could  leap  into  the  street !       [Opens  casement, 

Enter  Mariana,  l. 

Mar.  What  do  you  at  the  casement,  Floribel  1 

Flor.  Look  from  it  Madam. 

Mar.  That  I  see.    At  what 
la  it  you  look  ? 

Flor.  At  happy  people,  Mao  am. 
Some  standing,  others  walking,  others  running ; 


34 


THE  WIFE. 


[Act  III 


All  doing  what  they  list — like  merry  birds 
At  liberty. 

Mar.  Come  from  the  casement — shut  it. 

Flor.  Nay,  rather  approach  it,  Madam  !    Do  ! 
And  look  from't  too — there's,  news,  and  from  ycur  lord  ! 
Look — there's  the  courier  ! 

Mar.  [  Approaching  the  windoiv.]  Where? 

Flor.  That  cavalier, 
Who  tries  to  pass  along,  but  cannot,  so 
The  throng  do  press  upon  him. 

Enter  Ferrardo  and  Antonio,  l. 

Fer.  {Aside  to  Antonio.]  At  the  casement ! 

Mar.  Who  is  that  cavalier  1 

Flor.  The  courier,  Madam. 

Mar.  I  know,  but  who  is  he  ] 
His  family — his  name  1    I  cannot  take 
My  eyes  from  his  face  !    Who  is  he  !    Can't  you  tell  ? 
I  have  a  strange  desire  to  know  his  name  ! 

Fer.  [Aside  to  Antonio.]  Father  ! 

Flor.  I'll  fly  and  learn  it. 

Mar.  Do,  good  girl  ! 
And  soon  as  you  have  learn'd  fly  back  again. 

[Exit  Flor.  r. 

Fer.  [Aside  to  Ant.]  I  pray  you  mark,  but  speak  not— 
[Approaches  the  window  on  tip>toc,  returns,  and  speaks  to 
himself.] 
It  is  St.  Pierre  ! 

Incredible  !  [  To  Antonio.]  It  is  the  courier,  father, 
Of  whom  they  were  discoursing. 

Mar.  I  have  lost  him  ! 
He  has  entered  the  palace — I  should  like  again 
To  see  him — I  should  like  to  speak  to  him  ! 

Fer.  [Aside  to  Antonio.]  My  life  on't  she  will  hold  a 
court  to-day — 
Accost  her,  father. 

Ant.  Benedicite, 
Fair  daughter. 

Mar.  Father  ! — What,  his  grace  ! — I  think 
Or  I  mistake,  there's  news  of  my  dear  l:>rd  ? 

Ant.  Madam,  there  is,  and  happy  news.    Your  lord 
Has  wen  another  victory  ! 

E* 


feC«L]  THE  WIFE. 

Fer.  All  Mantua 
Would  have  a  heart  of  overflowing  joy, 
Would  but  your  highness  notify  your  will 
To  let  it  speak  its  happiness,  and  pay 
Congratulations  to  you.    May  I  hope 
You  do  not  pause  from  doubt  ]    Your  confessor 
Approves  your  highness  somewhat  should  relax 
Your  life  of  close  seclusion. 

Mar.  [After  a  pause]  Be  it  so. 

Fer.  [Aside  to  Antonio.]  I  told  you,  father — 

Re-enter  Floribel,  r. 

Flor.  Madam,  he  is  called — 

[Mariana  beckons  li?r  to  silence^ 

Fer.  St.  Pierre — you  mean  the  courier 
That  brought  these  happy  tidings  ] 

Mar.  Floribel, 
I  want  your  aid.    My  lord,  and  reverend  father, 
Soon  as  my  toilet's  made  I  shall  descend. 

[Exeunt  Mariana  and  Floribel,  r. 

Ant.  What  kind  of  man  is  this  1 

Fer.  A  kind  of  devil, 
That  grasps  you  with  his  eye,  as  fascinate 
Serpents,  'tis  said,  their  prey : — a  tongue  to  match 
In  glozing  speech,  the  master-fiend  himself! 
I 'm  troubled,  father.    Was  the  dame  you  spoke  of 
Indeed  a  pattern,  like  my  cousin's  wife, 
Of  saintly  self-denial  ] 

Ant.  Yes,  my  son. 

Fer.  I  grieve  we  urged  her  highness  with  her  presence 
To  grace  the  court  to-day     I  tremble  for  her. 
Come,  shall  I  tell  thee  something  ] — No,  I  will  not! 
When  you  can  lead  the  sea,  you  '11  sound  the  depth 
Of  woman's  art.    Would  you  believe  it — no  ! 
While  there's  a  doubt  suspicion  should  be  dumb. 
Think'st  thou  I  would  have  backed  her  guardian's  suit 
But  that  I  knew  he  had  his  reasons  ]  'Sdeath, 
What  am  I  doing1?    Come,  your  reverence, 
The  man  Df  prof  er  charity  condemns  not, 
Except  upo  1  enforcement.    All  is  right !         [Exeunt,  i« 


36 


THE  WIFE. 


\AUS  III 


Scene  III. — ^4  tooth,  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Florio  and  Cosmo,  l. 

Flo.  Where  is  the  regent  1 

Cos.  With  the  confessor, 
In  the  chamber  of  the  duchess.    Nay,  my  lord, 
He  has  quitted  it,  and  is  here. 

Flo.  You  may  withdraw.  [Exit  Cosmo,  r. 

Enter  Ferrardo,  l. 

Fer.  Well,  where's  St.  Pierre  ?    I  thought  you  were 

together  1 

Flo.  We  were,  but  parted  for  a  moment.  Fortune, 
In  the  task  you  set  me,  kindly  has  forestalled  me. 
Halting  to  bait  within  some  miles  of  this, 
He  met  a  friend,  whose  hand  he  scarce  had  shaken 
Ere  the  ready  dice  were  out.    In  brief,  your  grace, 
He  has  entered  Mantua  ducatless.    Of  my  own  counsel 
I  broke  to  him  your  need  of  his  assistance, 
Touching  your  cousin's  wife,  and  promised  him — 
A  pledge  I  knew  your  highness  will  redeem — 
Replenished  coffers,  would  he  undertake 
To  pleasure  you. 

Fer.  Will  he  do  it  1 

Flo.  Sullenly, 
But  fully,  he  consented— he  is  here. 

Fer.  Retire  awhile.  [The  Count  retire* 

Enter  St.  Pierre,  r. 

Welcome,  St.  Pierre  ! — welcome  my  friend  ! — I'm  glad 
To  see  you. 

St.  Pier.  Would  you  take  me  for  a  knave  ? 

Fer.  What  mean  you  ? 

St.  Pier.  Would  you  take  me  for  a  knave  ] 
Fer.  No. 

St.  Pier.  No  ]  Why  then  I'm  fit  to  do  your  pleasuie, 
Come  ! — to  my  work — when  am  I  to  begin  1 

Fer.  The  matter  1 

St.  Pier.  I  have  lived  an  honest  life 
These  six  months — knavery  is  new  to  me ! 
I  set  about  it  feverishly 


SCEFE  III.] 


THE  WIFE 


Fer.  What! 
Is't  knavery  to  net  a  petty  woman  1 
They  catch  birds  so. 

St.  Pier.  Pshaw ! — I  am  past  the  time. 

Fer.  Mind  is  the  brightness  of  the  body- -lights  it 
When  years,  its  proper  but  less  subtle  fire, 
Begins  to  dim.    Man,  I  could  tell  thee  how 
She  conned  thy  visage  from  her  casement ;  sent 
Her  confidant  to  learn  thy  name  ;  seemed  lost, 
At  losing  thee  !    Win  thou  discourse  with  her, 
And  hold  it  when  thou  winn'st  it — 'twill  content  me 
Thou  make  her  but  the  object  of  remark. 
Away  !    Go  lean  on  yonder  pedestal, 
And  watch  thy  opportunity  to  draw 
Her  notice  towards  thee — Thy  obeisance  does  it ; 
Or  anything  most  slight ; — her  lord's  success 
Is  plea  that  you  accost  her  ;  she  is  new 
To  the  court,  a  stranger  to  its  law  of  distance, 
Which  'tis  expedient  thou  infringe.    Couldst  master 
Aught  that's  about  her  person- — say  a  ring, 
A  brooch,  a  chain,  in  curiosity 
Besought  of  her  for  near  inspection,  then 
Mislaid  or  dropped — not  to  be  found  again, — 
It  were  a  thousand  ducats  in  thy  hand. 
Sdeath,  man,  hold  up  thy  head,  and  look  at  fortune, 
That  smiles  on  thee,  and  aids  thee  to  embrace  her  ! 
What  dost  thou  gaze  at  1 

St.  Pier.  Who  is  that  1 

Fer.  The  duchess. 

St.  Pier.  Indeed,  a  lady  of  surpassing  beauty  ! 

Fer.  An  irksome  task,  methinks,  I've  set  you — Ccme  ! 
About  it !  to  thy  post ! 

St.  Pier.  Surpassing  fair  !  [Exit. 

Fer.  [Looking  after  him.]  He  has  caught  her  eye  al- 
ready,— excellent ! 
He  bows  to  her  !    Does  she  curtsey  ! — yes,  i'faith  ! 
And  to  the  very  ground  !    You're  welcome,  Sir ! 
He  speaks  to  her  !    How  take  she  his  advances  ? 
She  entertains  them  !    They  pass  on  in  converse  ! 
Hold  it  but  on,  she's  lost !  [Florio  comes  down 

Do  you  see  i 

Flo.  So  soon  ! 

D 


38 


THE  WIFE. 


[Act  ill. 


[  wish  him  fortune  !    As  I  loved  her  cjice 
I  fiven  loathe  her  now  ! 

Fcr.  Could  you  believe  it] 
He  crosses  her,  and  straight  her  eye  is  caught ! 
He  speaks,  and  straight  is  master  of  her  ear ! 
Solace  for  baffled  hopes  !    From  infancy 
I  loathed  my  cousin  for  his  elder  right, 
And  leaped  into  his  seat  with  lighter  spring, 
That  he,  I  thought,  had  missed  it !    He  returns, 
And  I,  with  humbled  brow,  in  sight  of  all 
Descend,  that  he  may  mount !     I'll  pay  him  shame 
For  shame  ;  but  he  shall  have't  with  interest ! 
Where  is  the  confessor  ]    I  must  to  him. 
Mix  with  the  company,  and  point  to  them 
The  eye  of  questioning  remark  :  with  looks 
SpeaK  sentences  !    More  surely  does  not  raise 
One  wave  another  wave,  than  marvel  grows 
On  marvel.    Interjections  have  a  world 
Of  argument.    1  Incredible  !'    '  Odd  !'    '  Strange  !' 
Will  make  a  thousand  hearers  prick  their  ears, 
And  conjure  wonders  out  of  commonest  things. 
Then  with  commiseration  you  may  do 
A  murder  easily  !    'Alack!'  'Alas!' 
Use  daggers  that  seem  tears.    Away  !  away  ! 
For  now  or  never  is  the  golden  hour  !  [Exeunt,  U 

Scene  IV. — Another  room  in  the  Palace, 
Enter  Mariana  and  St.  Pierre,  c. 

Mar.  I  thank  you  for  the  story  of  your  travels  : 
You  make  me  wish  to  see  the  world,  of  which 
Such  wonders  you  relate.    I  think  you  said, 
You  were  but  newly  come  to  Mantua? 
You  must  have  been  in  Mantua  before,  then, 
So  many  seem  to  know  you. 

St.  Pier.  I  have  been 
Before  in  Mantua. 

Mar.  'Tis  very  strange, 
But  when  I  saw  thee  first  I  felt  as  if 
We  were  of  old  aquamtance  !  have  we  met 
Before  % 

St.  Pier.  No,  lady 


SCWTE  IV.] 


THE  WIFE. 


39 


Mar.  It  is  very  strange  : 
You  have  never  been  in  Switzerland  1 

St.  Pier.  Oh  yes, 
It  is  my  birth-place. 

Mar.  Ay  !  so  it  is  mine. 
'Tis  a  dear  country !  never  met  we  there  1 

St.  Pier.  No. 

Mar.  No  !  'tis  odd  !  how  many  years  is't  since 
You  were  in  Switzerland  % 
St.*Pier.  'Tis  fifteen  years. 
Mar.  So  long  !    I  was  an  infant  then — no,  no, 
We  have  not  met  before.    'Tis  odd — at  least. 
You  are  my  countryman  !    [Holding  out  her  hands  to  him. 
[Visitors  have  been  occasionally  crossing  the  stage  during 
this  scene,  observing  Mariana  and  St.  Pierre,  l.  and 
go  off  r.  Enter  in  the  back  ground  Antonio  and  Fep 

RARDO. 

Fer.  Had  I  been  told  it, 
I  would  not  have  believed  it. 

Mar.  Switzerland 
(s  a  dear  country  !    Switzerland  ! 

St.  Pier.  It  is 
The  land  of  beauty  and  of  grandeur,  lady, 
Where  looks  the  cottage  out  on  a  domain 
The  palace  cannot  boast  of.    Seas  of  lakes, 
And  hills  of  forests  !  crystal  waves  that  rise 
'Midst  mountains  all  of  snow,  and  mock  the  sun, 
Returning  him  his  naming  beams  more  thick 
And  radiant  than  he  sent  them.    Torrents  there 
Are  bounding  floods  !  and  there  the  tempest  roams 
At  large,  in  all  the  terrors  of  its  glory ! 
And  then  our  valleys  !  ah,  they  are  the  homes' 
For  hearts  !  our  cottages,  our  vineyards,  orchards — 
Our  pastures  studded  with  the  herd  and  fold ! 
Our  native  strains  that  melt  us  as  we  sing  them  ! 
A  free — a  gentle — simple  honest  people  !       [  Crosses  to  R. 

Mar.  I  see  them,  Signor, — I'm  in  Switzerland, 
I  do  not  stand  in  Mantua  ! — dear  country  ! 
Except  in  one  thing,  I'm  not  richer,  Signor, 
Than  when  I  was  a  child  in  Switzerland, 
And  mistress  only  of  this  little  cross. 

[  Pressing  the  cross  to  her  br<*uk 


40 


THE  WIFE 


rAcT  III 


St.  Pier.  [Anxiously.]  Your  pardon,  lady  !  Pray  you  let 

me  see 
That  cross  again  • 

Mar.  Right  willingly. 

Ant.  [Coming forward.]  Hence,  Signor! 

Mar.  Father  ! 

Ant.  I  pray  your  grace  retire — but  first 
Command  that  libertine  from  the  apartment ! 

St.  Pier.  [Sternly  surveying  alternately  Antonio  and  Fer 
rardo.]  I  go,  your  reverence,  of  mine  own  accord.  • 

[Exit,  followed  by  Ferrardo.  r. 

Mar.  Father,  what  meant  you  by  that  word,  which 
turned 
My  very  blood  to  ice  ] 

Ant.  Behoves  your  highness 
To  keep  your  eye  upon  your  husband's-  honor, 
If  not  upon  your  own  ! 

Mar.  How  ! 

Ant.  Heaven  alone 
Can  judge  the  heart ;  men  must  decide  by  actions, 
And  yours  to-night,  to  all  have  given  offence. 

Mar.  Offence  ! 

Ant.  A  woman  hath  in  every  state 
Most  need  of  circumspection  ;  most  of  all 
When  she  bocomes  a  wife  ! — she  is  a  spring 
Must  not  be  doubted  ;  if  she  is,  no  oath 
That  earth  can  utter  will  so  purge  the  stream 
That  men  will  think  it  pure. 

Mar.  Is  this  to  me  1 

Ant.  Women  who  play  the  waaton — 

Mar.  Father! 

Ant.  Daughter ! 
That  look  and  tone  of  high  command  become 
Thy  state  indeed. 

Mar.  No  father,  not  my  state — 
They  become  me  ! — state  greater — higher  far, 
One  who  deserved  that  name  I  blushed  to  hear — 
And  thou,  a  reverend  man,  should'st  blush  to  use- 
Might  fill  !  but  though  it  were  an  empress's 
I  would  defy  her  in  her  breast  to  seat 
The  heart  that's  throned  in  mine  !    If  'tis  a  crime 
To  boast — heaven  pardon  you — you  have  made  me  sin  ! 


8CKHE  IV., 


THE  WIFE. 


41 


Ant.  Behoves  us  heed  appearances  1 

Mar.  No,  father, 
Behoves  us  heed  desires  and  thoughts  !  and  let 
Appearances  be  what  they  may — you 
Shall  never  shape  them  so,  that  evil  men 
Will  not  their  own  construction  put  upon  them. 
Father,  it  was  the  precept  of  my  father. 

Ant.  He  little  knew  the  world. 

Mar.  He  knew  what's  better, 
Heaven  and  the  smile  of  his  own  conscience  ! 
What  have  I  done  \ 

Ant.  Given  cause  of  scandal,  daughter. 

Mar.  How  % 

Ant.  By  a  preference  so  marked,  it  drew 
The  eyes  of  all  upon  you. 

Mar.  Evil  eyes — 
Which  see  defect  in  frank  and  open  deeds  ! 
The  gentleman  appeared  mine  old  acquaintance— 
That  drew  me  towards  him  : — I  discovered  now 
He  was  my  countryman — that  makes  allies 
Of  oven  foes  that  meet  in  foreign  lands, 
Then  well  may  couple  strangers  ; — he  discoursed 
Of  my  dear  native  country,  till  its  peaks 
Began,  methought,  to  cleave  the  sky,  as  there# 
They  stood  before  me  ! — I  was  happy — pleased 
With  him  that  made  me  so.    Out  of  a  straw 
To  raise  a  conflagration.  [Crosses  to  l 

Ant.  You  forget 
You  are  not  now  the  commissary's  ward, 
But  consort  to  the  duke  of  Mantua. — 
You're  a  changed  woman. 

Mar.  No,  i'  faith,  the  same  ! 
My  skin  is  not  of  other  texture — This, 
My  hand,  is  just  the  hand  I  knew  before  ! 
If  my  glass  tells  the  truth,  the  face  and  form 
I  have  to-day,  I  had  to-day  last  year ! 
My  mind  is  not  ar:  inch  the  taller  grown 
Than  mellowing  time  hath  made  it  in  his  courBe  t 
And,  for  my  heart — it  beats  not  in  my  breast, 
If,  in  the  ducal  chair  of  Mantua, 
'Tis  not  the  same  I  had  when  I  did  sit 
On  some  wild  turret  of  my  native  hills, 
L* 


42 


THE  WI?E. 


[Act  I  i 


And  burn  with  love  and  gratitude  to  heaven 
Tiat  made  a  land  so  fair,  and  me  its  daughter ! 

Ant.  Hear  me  !  you  have  wronged  your  lord. 

Mar.  I  have  wronged  my  lord  ] 
How  have  I  wronged  my  lord  1 

Ant.  By  entertaining 
With  marked  and  special  preference,  a  man 
Until  to-day  a  perfect  stranger  to  thee. 

Mar.  Go  on. 

Ant.  He  is  a  libertine. 

Mar.  Go  on ! 

Ant.  A  woman  who  has  such  a  friend  has  naught 
To  do  with  honest  men  ! 
Mar.  Go  on  ! 
Ant.  A  wife 

Has  done  with  friend — her  heart,  had  it  the  room 
Of  twenty  hearts,  her  husband  ought  to  fill, — 
A  friend  that  leaves  not  space  for  other  friends, 
Save  such  as  nature's  earliest  warrant  have 
To  house  there. 

Mar.  You  are  right  in  that !    Go  on. 

Ant.  A  court's  a  place  where  men  have  need  to  watcln 
Their  acts  and  words  not  only,  but  their  looks ; 
For  prying  ^yes  beset  them  round  about, 
That  wait  on  aught  but  thoughts  of  charity. 
What  were  thy  words  I  know  not,  but  thy  acts 
Have  been  the  comment  of  the  Court  to-day. 
Of  eyes  that  ganed  with  marvel — groups  that  stood 
Gazing  upon  thee — leaning  ears  to  lips, 
Whose  whispers,  were  their  import  known  to  thee, 
Had  stunned  thee  worse  than  thunder ! 

Mar.  So  !    Go  on. 

Ant.  What  if  thev  reach  thy  consort  % 

Mar.  What ! 

Ant.  Ay,  what ! 

Mar.  He'll  spurn  them  as  he  ought — as  I  do  spurn  them. 
For  shame  !  for  shame  !    Me  thou  shouldst  not  arraJflm, 
But  rather  those  who  basely  question  me  ! 
Father,  the  heart  of  innocence  is  bold  ! 
Tell  me,  how  comes  your  Court  to  harbor  one 
Whom  I  should  blush  to  speak  to  %    If  its  pride 
Be  not  the  bearing  that  looks  down  on  vice, 


SCCKE  IV.] 


THE  WIFE. 


43 


What  right  has  it  to  hold  its  head  so  high! 
Endure  at  Court  what  from  our  cottage  door 
My  father  would  have  spurned  ! — If  that's  your  Ccuit, 
I'll  be  nor  slave  nor  mistress  of  your  Court ! 
Father,  no  more  !    E'en  from  thy  reverend  lips' 
[  will  not  hear  what  I've  no  right  to  list  to. 
What ! — taint  my  lord  with  question  of  my  truth  ! 
Could  he  who  proved  my  love  on  grounds  so  broad 
As  I  have  given  my  lord,  on  grounds  so  mean 
Descend  to  harbor  question  of  my  love — 
Though  broke  my  heart  in  the  disseverment, 
He  were  no  longer  lord  or  aught  of  mine  ! 

[Going  r. 

Father,  no  more  !    I  will  not  hear  thee  !    Frown — 
Heaven  does  not  frown  ! — to  heaven  I  turn  from  thee. 

[Exit  r. 

Ant.  This  confidence  offends  me. — Swerving  virtue 
Endureth  not  rebuke — while  that,  that's  steadfast 
With  smiling  patience,  suns  the  doubt  away, 
Wherewith  mistrust  would  cloud  it !    'Tis  not  right — 
An  eye  so  firm-resentful — speech  so  lofty — 

[Mariana  enters  unperceived  and  kneels  to  him,  r 
An  air  of  such  defiance — 

Mar.  Father  ! 

Ant.  Daughter ! 

Mar.  I  am  thy  daughter  !    O  my  father,  bless  me  1 
Were  I  the  best,  I  were  not  'bove  thy  charity, 
Were  I  the  worst,  I  should  not  be  beneath  it ! 

Ant.  Thou  hast  my  blessing. 

Mar.  Ere  I  break  my  fast 
To-morrow,  father,  I'll  confess  to  thee, 
And  thou  shalt  know  how  little  or  how  much 
1  merit  what  thou  giv'st  me !  |o  gc  od  night ! 

JjU.  Gool  night,  fair  daughter.    Benediclte  ! 

[Exeunt  severally 


END  OF  ACT  III. 


44 


THE  WIFE. 


fAct  19 


A  C  T  I  V. 

Scene  I. — A  street. 
Enter  Bartdlo,  Bernardo,  Carlo  and  otfiers. 

Bar.  Hush,  Signors  !  speak  softly  !  'Tis  treason,  and 
we  may  be  hanged  for  it.  So  the  matter  stands !  The 
young  duchess,  I  fear  me,  is  an  old  sinner — and  what  a 
saint  she  looked  !  Let  no  man  marry  a  wife  who  looks 
like  a  saint.  Please  Providence,  mine  shall  be  as  ill-fa- 
vored as  Satan  ! 

Ber.  'Tis  a  way  to  make  sure  of  a  wife. 

Bar.  It  is,  Signors.  Such  is  the  value  of  beauty.  Let 
any  man  take  his  own  case.  Now  myself,  for  instance — 
how  many  a  scrape  should  I  have  avoided  had  I  been  born 
as  ill-favored  as  some  people  !  He  is  the  happiest  man, 
be  assured,  whom  no  one  has  reason  to  envy. — Now  thou 
art  a  happy  man,  Bernardo. 

Ber.  I  thank  you,  Signor  Bartolo. 

Car.  But  when  happened  this  % 

Bar.  I  told  you  it  happened  about  half  an  hour  ago. 
Ber.  Prithee,  Signor,  tell  it  us  again  1 
Bar.  Well  then,  draw  near  and  remember  you  are  sworn 
to  secrecy. 

All.  We  are,  we  are  ! 

Bar.  You  all  know  that  I  am  fond  of  the  news — though 
I  have  as  little  curiosity  as  any  man.  Well,  where  can 
one  get  news  if  not  at  the  palace  1  So,  to  the  palace  1 
went  this  morning,  as  I  do  every  morning. — Few  persons 
have  admittance  at  the  palace  as  I  have,  for  they  are  peo- 
ple of  discretion  at  the  palace,  and  suffer  not  rogues  that 
come  peeping  and  prying — spies  and  blabbers — scoundrels 
of  no  trust  or  honesty — but  I  have  admittance  to  the  pal- 
ace, for  they  know  me. 

Be?\  Well ! 

Bar.  When  I  entered  it  was  all  confusion  S  One  run- 
ning this  way,  another  that  way.  One  whispering  this 
person,  and  every  one  with  wonder  in  his  looks  !  I  war- 
rant yo  i  I  did  not  look  the  figure  of  wonder  too. 

Car.  Go  on,  good  Bartolo. 

Bar.  Well :  I  happened  to  have  a  friend  or  two  at  the 


BiBlCE  II.] 


THE  WIFE. 


45 


palace. — Lucky  for  me  that  I  have  so — there  is  no  doing 
anything  there  without  a  friend. — 1  Would  that  such  a  one 
was  here,'  said  I  to  myself ;   scarce  had  I  said  it,  when  in 
runs  the  very  man  I  was  thinking  of. 
Bcr.  Excellent ! 

Bar.  Just  in  the  nick  of  time,  or  I  verily  believe  I  should 
have  died  of  wonder  ; — at  the  same  time,  every  one  knows 
I  am  the  least  curious  man  in  Mantua.  Well,  in  runs  my 
friend,  just  in  the  nick  of  time.  1  The  matter  V  cried  I. 
1  Treason,'  whispered  he,  '  but  I  dare  not  breathe  it  for  my 
life.' — '  What  is  it  V  said  I ;  '  I'll  be  as  mute  as  the  marble 
under  my  feet.'  !  You  shall  hear  it,'  cried  he,  '  for  you  are 
a  lad  of  discretion,  and  have  a  guard  upon  your  tongue.' 
You  see,  Signors,  that  I  have  a  character  at  the  palace. 

Bcr.  Go  on,  Bartolo. 

Bar.  Well ;  as  I  told  you  before,  the  substance  was  this 
— and  nothing  more  nor  less  ;  Julian  St.  Pierre,  who  has 
lately  returned  to  the  court,  and  for  his  wild  practices 
would  have  been  dismissed  from  it  many  a  year  ago,  but 
for  the  favor  of  the  Duke  Ferrardo, — this  Julian  St.  Pierre, 
I  say,  was  half  an  hour  ago  discovered  stealing  from  the 
ante -room  that  leads  to  the  duchess'  chamber,  and  secured 
upon  the  spot. 

Bcr.  and  Car.  Go  on. 

Bar.  I  have  no  more  to  tell  you — you  know  as  much  as 
I  do. — But  be  discreet !  a  silent  tongue  betokens  a  wise 
head  !  I  cannot  stay  with  you  longer.  T  have  some  friends 
in  the  next  street  to  see  ;  others  in  the  street  beyond  ! 
more  again,  in  the  street  beyond  that  !  t  I  know  not  how 
many  I  have  to  see  !  I  have  the  whole  city  to  see.  Now 
be  discreet! — remember,  I  got  it  as  I  gave  it,  on  promise 
of  secrecy — be  discreet ! — discovered  half  an  hour  ago, 
stealing  from  the  ante-room  that  leads  to  the  duchess's 
chamber  ! — be  discreet,  I  say — a  silent  tongue,  a  wise 
head  ! — Be  discreet — be  discreet !  [Exeunt  severally. 

Scene  II. — -Ante-room  leading  to  the  Duchess1  apartment. 
Enter  Mariana,  l. 

Mar.  Or  I  have  had  sweet  dreams,  whose  fleeting  formi 
Have  but  the  charm  of  their  fair  presence  left ; 
Or  by  my  coucb  hath  some  good  angel  watched 


46 


THE  WIFE. 


[Act 


And  upon  my  lapsed  unconscious  spirit  breatl.eil 

The  balmy  fragrance  of  his  heavenly  visitr; 

So  light  my  heart  as  it  were  clad  with  wings 

And  floated  in  the  sun  !    My  lord — my  lord  ! 

How's  this  1  'tis  strange  !  at  thought  of  my  dear  lord 

My  soaring  heart  hath  dropp'd  at  once  to  earth 

It  is  the  incidents  of  yesternight 

The  thought  of  him  recals  !    I  feel  as  though 

I  fear'd  my  lord  !  or  is't  the  world  I  fear  ] 

The  world  which  yesternight  I  did  defy, 

But  now  begin  to  think  upon  its  snares, 

And  feel,  as  they  beset  me  round  so  thick, 

I  cannot  step  but  I  do  tread  upon 

The  precincts  of  perdition  !    Blessed  mother  ! 

My  heart  is  heavy  as  just  now  'twas  light. 

Enter  Antonio,  l. 

My  confessor  !  here's  comfort !  welcome,  father. 
For  mercy's  sake  what's  this !    ''I  welcome  thee, 
"  And  thou  to  me  giv'st  naught  but  an  all  hail ! 
"  Why,  what's  the  matter  ]  can  I  be  awake  V9 
Father,  I  need  kind  looks  and  words  to-day, — 
My  heart  is  sick,  O  earth,  how  sick  !    I  look'd 
For  thee  to  bring  me  peace — alack  !  alack  ! 
Why  do  your  eyes  of  mercy  turn  to  swords 
"  Only  they  pierce  where  feeling  is  more  quick  !" 
Father,  be  pitiful  :  'tis  not  the  proud 
And  forward  woman  braved  thee  yesternight, 
But  thy  repentant  daughter  kneels  to  thee  ! 

Ant.  Repentance  is  a  grace  ! — but  it  is  ono 
That  grows  upon  deformity — fair  child 
To  an  unsightly  mother  ! — Nor,  indeed, 
Always  a  grace  ! — 'tis  oftentimes — too  oft, 
The  bootless  terror  of  the  stranded  soul. 
When  ebbing  passion  leaves  it  all  alone, 
Upon  the  bleak  and  dreary  shoals  of  sin  ! — 
So  its  of  different  kinds — which  kind  is  thine  \ 

Mar.  Father! 

Ant.  Thy  lord  !  thy  lord  ! 

Mar.  What  of  my  lord  % 

Ant.  Nay,  rather  answer  thou,  what  of  thy  lord  i 
I  kno\t  that  he  is  duke  of  Mantua, 


Sonne  IT  1 


THE  WIFE 


Noble,  and  fair  and  good  !    Hath  high  allies, 
Heads  the  proud  war,  in  wisdom  and  in  arms, 
The  foremost  plume  of  the  van  !  and,  crown  of  all, 
I  know  he  thinks  himself,  of  every  wish 
Which  heaves  that  breast  of  thine,  the  paramount, 
The  happy  lord  ! 

Mar.  He  thinks  himself — 

Ant.  And  presses 
The  'larum-curtain'd  couch  of  restless  war, 
In  hopes  to  change  it  for  that  downy  one 
Where  he  did  leave,  as  he  imagined,  safe, 
His  dearest  honor  by  thy  side  reposing, — 
And  little  dreams  that  stain  has  reach'd  it  there ! 

Mar.  That  stain  has  reach'd  it  there  ! 

Ant.  You  slept  alone 
Last  night  1 

Mar.  I  slept  alone  1 — yes — I  did  sleep  alone  I 
What  idle  words  are  these  1 — I  slept  alone  ] 
I  know  I  slept  alone  last  night ! — the  night 
Before  ! — the  night  preceding  that  ! —  alone  ? 
How  could  I  otherwise  than  sleep  alone, 
When  my  dear  lord's  away  1 

Ant.  Thou  lookest — 

Mar.  Howl 

Ant.  And  speak'st — 

Mar.  How — how  do  I  look  and  speak  ? 

Ant.  Like  innocence. 

Mar.  Dost  doubt  my  innocence  ! 

Ant.  They  say 
Thou  didst  not  sleep  alone  ! 

Mar.  Who  say  so  1 

Ant.  All 
The  palace. 

Mar.  They  !  1  cannot  speak  the  word, 

Which  doth  imply  the  acting  of  a  part 
Unparalleled  in  shame  ! 

Ant.  Another  part, 
Which  doth  involve  a  ten-fold  deeper  shame, 
They  do  refer  the  acting  of  to  thee! 

Mar.  Art  thou  my  friend  ] 

Ant.  Has  thou  not  proved  me  so  ] 

Mar  I  have.    Forgive  me  that  I  questioned  the* 


THE  WIFE. 


f  Act  IT 


But  when  I  know  my  heart's  supreme  content 
In  its  own  clearness — not  in  act  alone, 
But  wish  ;  nor  wish  alone,  but  thought  of  sin  ;— 
When  I  know  this  and  think  of  yesternight, 
And  worse  than  yesternight  do  find  to-day, 
I  'gin  to  think  the  world  is  made  of  hate, 
And  doubt  if  thou — e'en  thou  are  not  my  foe  ! 
Oh,  do  not  be  my  foe  !  indeed — indeed — 
The  helpless  maid  that  hung  upon  thy  robe 
To  beg  protection  and  receive  it  there, 
Unchanged  in  all — save  that  she  is  a  wife, 
And  as  a  wife  more  bound  than  e'er  to  heaven — - 
In  strait  more  piteous  than  she  knelt  e'en  then, 
Clings,  kneeling,  to  it  now  !    What's  said  of  me  ? 
And  on  what  ground  ? — for  not  the  robe  I  hold 
Less  conscious  is  of  ground  of  foul  report 
Than  I  am  ! 

Ant.  Left  thy  chamber  any  one 
This  morning,  whom  thy  honor  should  forbid 
To  cross  its  threshold  1 

Mar.  No! 

Ant.  Art  sure  !  'tis  said 
There  did — The  man  was  seen  ! 

Mar.  The  man  ! 

Ant.  The  man 
Departing  from  this  ante-chamber  ! — this, 
Which  none  except  thy  lord,  myself,  and  those 
Who  wait  upon  thy  person,  do  frequent 

Mar.  Who  was  the  man  ] 

Ant.  Seen  in  the  very  act 
Of  slinking  from  your  door  ! 

Mar.  Who  was  the  man  ] 

Ant.  The  same  that  last  night  held  thee  in  discourse. 
Mar.  I'm  lost ! 

Enter  Ferrardo,  Lorenzo,  Cosmo,  and  others,  l. 

Fer.  Lady,  by  your  leave,  we  wish 
To  pass  into  your  chamber. 

[Ferrardo  and  Lorenzo  pass  in,  the  others  l  emain. 
Ant.  You  are  lost  ? 
Mar.  I'm  lost — but  I  am  innocent ! 
Fer.  [Returning  with  Lorenzo.]  My  Lords, 


Scot  II.] 


THE  WIFE. 


Vou  know  who  owns  this  scarf? 
Cos,  It  is  St.  Pierre's  ! 

Fer,  'Twas  found  beneath  the  couch — our  advocate 
Of  state  it  was  that  saw  it  there  :  are  ye  satisfied  ! 
Cos.  We  are,  your  grace  ] 

Ant.  Find  earth  where  grows  i?o  weed,  and  you  may 
find 

A  heart  wherein  no  error  grows.    I  thought 

Thy  heart  without  one — thought  it  was  a  garden 

So  thickly  set  with  with  flowers,  no  weed  had  room 

To  shoot  there  !    Who  would  sin,  who  knew  how  shame 

Confounds  the  trespasser!  I  cannot  stay, 

My  tears  be  vouchers  for  me  that  I  loved  her, 

And  fain  would  doubt  the  lapse  I  must  allow.       [Exit,  l. 

Fer.  My  worthy  friends,  follow  the  confessor, 
I  wish  to  speak  in  private  with  her  highness. 

[Exeunt  Lorenzo,  Cosmo,  and  Lords,  L. 
I  am  your  friend  !  you  are  accused  of  treason — 
The  grounds  against  you  are  conclusive  ones  ; 
Your  judges  will  be  those  who  will  not  spare  you, 
And  soon  and  summary  will  be  your  trial; 
The  penalty  of  your  offence  is  death  ! 
You  are  now  a  prisoner — I  pity  you, 
Would  save  you  !    Will !    As  soon  as  dusk  sets  in — 
In  a  convenient  spot  without  the  town, 
To  which  in  secret  you  shall  be  conveyed, 
I  shall  have  horses  waiting — 

[Mariana  shrieks  and  starts  up  from  h  er  knee,  on  wh  ich 
she  had  remained  in  a  state  of  mental  stupefaction. 

Hush! 

Mar.  For  flight? 

Fer.  For  flight ! — by  dawn  you  shall  be  far  away 
From  Mantua. 

Mar.  At  dusk  1 

Fer.  At  dusk; — as  soon 
As  dusk  begins  to  fall,  expect  me  here, 
And  thou  shalt  have  supply  of  gold  enough 
To  pay  the  charges  of  thy  journey — yea, 
Maintain  thee  in  abundance  where  thou  wilt, 

Mar.  I  may  depend  upon  thee  % 

Fear.  Fear  me  not. 
Remember  now — at  dusk. 

Mar.  I  will!  at  dusk  \rjxeunt severally 


50 


THE  WIFE. 


[Act  IT 


Scene  III  — Another  Chambet  in  ike  Palate, 

Enter  Ferrardo.  r 

Fer.  His  1  eart  is  in  my  power  as  'twere  a  thing 
Which  in  my  hand  I  held,  and  I  could  crush 
With  a  ^rasp  !  Nor  can  it  'scape  my  power  !  her  name- 
That  flower  of  woman's  pride,  which  ta'en  away, 
From  a  bright  paragon  she  turns  a  thing 
For  basest  eyes  to  look  askant  upon — 
Is  blasted  past  the  power  of  rain  and  sun 
To  bring  it  to  its  pristine  hue  again. 
Now  for  St.  Pierre — he  also  must  to-night 
Take  leave  of  Mantua.  [  Unlocks  doar^\  Come  forth,  mj 
friend  ! 

Enter  St.  Pierre,  c. 

Dost  thou  not  know  me  ]    What  an  air  is  this  ! 

A  king  could  not  a  loftier  assume 

At  high  offence  !    'Twas  thus  with  thee  last  night — 

Nothing  but  moody  looks, — until  the  count 

With  much  persuasion  waved  you  to  our  feast ; 

I  wondered  at  thee. 

*S£.  Pier.  Are  we  alone  1 

Fer.  What's  this  1 

St.  Pier.  Are  we  alone  !  where  are  the  craven  minion f 
That  overpowered  me  in  the  corrridor, 
And  at  thy  bidding  dragged  me  hither  ] 

Fer.  Pshaw  ! 
Art  thou  no  wiser  than  to  heed  them  1  knowst  not 
'Twas  done  upon  my  instruction — mine — thy  friend's  ? 

St.  Pier.  Are  we  alone  1 

Fer,  We  are  alone. 

St  Pier.  Art  sure 
That  door  is  unattended  ]  that  no  minions 
Watch  it  withe ut  1 

Fer.  I  am. 

St.  Pier  Wilt  lock  it  ] 

Fer.  [Locking  it  and  returning.]  There  ! 

St.  Pier.  [Springing  upon  him.]  Villain! 

Fer.  What  means  this  violence  ] 

St.  Pier.  You  struck  me 


Sctrc  HI.] 


THE  WIFE. 


When  I  contended  with  the  recreants, 
That  smite  this  moment  what  the  one  before 
They  fawn'd  upon  ! — Across  their  arms  you  struck 
And  fell'd  me  with  the  hiow  ! — now  take  it  back ! 

Fer.  Stop  !  you'll  repent  it  if  you  strike  ! 

St  Pier.  I  tell  thee, 
I  ne'er  received  a  blow  from  mortal  man 
But  I  did  pay  it  back  with  interest ! — One  by  one 
I  have  parted  with  those  virtues  of  a  man 
Which  precept  doth  inculcate  ;  but  one  grace 
Remains — the  growth  of  nature — the  true  shoot 
Abuse  could  not  eradicate,  and  leave 
The  trunk  and  root  alive, — one  virtue — manhood  ! 
The  brow  whereon  doth  sit  disdain  of  threat, 
Defiance  of  aggression,  and  revenge 
For  contumely.    You  did  strike  me  !    Come  ! 
I  must  have  blow  for  blow  ! 

Fer.  [Drawing  his  dagger.]  Let  fall  thy  hand 
Upon  my  person — lo,  my  dagger's  free, 
And  I  will  sheathe  it  in  thy  heart ! 

St.  Pier.  I  care  not, 
So  I  die  quits  with  thee  ! 

Fer.  I  would  not  kill  thee, 
So  don't  advance  thy  hand  !    Nay,  listen  first, 
And  then,  if  thou  wilt,  strike  me  ! — Strike  ! — abuse 
Thy  friend,  who,  when  he  struck  thee,  was  thy  friend 
As  much  as  he  is  now,  or  ever  was  : 
Who  struck  thee  but  that  he  should  seem  thy  foe, 
To  hide  indeed  how  much  he  was  thy  friend. 
Nay,  if  the  lack  of  quittance  for  a  blow: — 
Which  but  in  show  was  one,  for  'tis  the  thought 
That  makes  the  act — must  constitute  us  foes, 
My  dagger's  up  !  now  give  a  blow  indeed, 
For  one  that  seemed  but  one. 

St.  Pier.  I  take't  in  thought, 
And  let  thy  person  unprofaned  go. 

Fer.  No  animal  so  wild  it  will  not  tame, 
Save  man  !    Come,  calm  thyself,  sit  down — as  yet 
Thou  know'st  not  whether  to  caress  thy  friend 
Or  tear  him  !    Should'st  thou  tear  him  %   Cone,  sit  down. 
There's  not  a  man  in  Italy  save  thee 
WouM  fret — and  he  the  master  all  at  once 


62 


THE  WIFE. 


[ACTf? 


Of  good  ten  thousand  ducats  !    Still  a  brow  ! 

Odd's  man,  be  merry  !  rub  thy  hands  and  laugh, 

Thou  art  rich — look  here.  [Showing  a  casket, 

St.  Pier.  How  came  I  yesternight 
To  sleep  in  tne  chamber  of  the  Duke  1    And  why 
This  morning,  when  I  left  the  ante-room, 
Was  I  assaulted  by  thy  minions  1 

Fer.  Pshaw ! 

Enough,  thou  slept'st  where  thou  didst  sleep,  next  chamber 
To  the  duke's  wife,  and  thereby  mad'st  thy  fortune. 
For  every  ducat  of  the  sum  I  named 
Is  thine — but  render  me  one  service  more. 
St.  Pier.  Name  it. 

Fer.  Just  write  for  me  in  boasting  vein, 
Confession  thou  did'st  pillow  yesternight 
There,  where  the  honor  of  the  duke  forbids 
That  head  save  his  should  lie. 
Why  do  you  gaze  1    'Tis  easily  done. 

St.  Pier.  It  is. 

Fer.  It  takes  but  pen  and  ink,  and  here  they  are; 
Make  use  of  time  !  the  hour  that  is  not  used 
Is  lost,  and  might  have  been  the  luckiest, 
Converted  to  account  :  what  ponder'st  thou  ? 

St.  Pier.  The  manner  best  to  execute  thy  wish  : 
I'm  hardly  in  the  vein — 'twould  put  me  into't 
Would'st  thou  relate  the  means  whereby  I  came 
To  lie  in  the  duke's  chamber. 

Fer.  'T would  retard  thee  ! 

St.  Pier.  No,  it  will  rather  help  me.    When  I  write 
Ofttimes  I  miss  the  thought,  too  much  intent 
On  finding  it, — looking  at  something  else, 
Lo,  there  it  stands  before  me  of  itself ! 
How  came  I  in  the  chamber  of  the  duke  1 

Fer.  You  supped,  you  may  remember,  with  the  Count 
And  me  1 

St.  Pier.  I  do. 

Fer.  'Twas  planned  between  us. 
St.  Pier.  Well  1 

Fer.  And  for  our  end  we  kept  the  revel  up  — 
I  mean  the  Count  and  I — for,  as  I  said 
Before,  thou  wast  not  in  the  joyous  vein,— 
Till  all  the  palace  had  retired  to  rest. 


tm.  III. J 


THE  WIFE 


St.  Pier.  My  lord,  may't  please  you,  stop — my  thought 
has  come. 

A.  fair  commencement !  excellent !  most  fair  ! 
You  see  how  much  you  help  me  ! — there — go  on  : 
You  revelled  till  the  palace  was  at  rest — 
What  then  1 

Fer.  Why,  then,  finding  thee  jealous  still 
Of  the  kindly  grape,  we  drugged  your  cup,  and  when 
The  potion  worked,  conveyed  you  in  your  sleep, — 
To  sound  or  stir  profound  as  that  of  death, — 
Into  the  chamber  of  the  duke — of  the  key 
Of  which  I  keep  a  duplicate — and  there 
We  laid  you  in  his  bed. 

St.  Pier.  Break  off  again 
While  I  go  on  ! — You  see,  my  lord,  how  great 
A  help  you  are  to  me  !    It  comes  as  fast 
As  though  I  were  inditing  what  you  spoke — 
Your  grace  rehearsed  to  me.    Most  excellent : 
And  now  proceed  again  ! 

Fer.  Where  left  I  off? 

St.  Pier.  Where  you  had  laid  me  in  his  highness'  bed. 
Fer.  Y'ou're  right.    There  left  we  thee  to  sleep  that 
night,  ^ 

With  a  partition  only  'twixt  his  wife 

And  thee,  and  that  made  frailer  by  a  door, — 

The  lock  of  which  I  from  its  use  absolved, 

And  casting  'neath  her  highness'  couch  thy  scarf, 

As  proof  of  closer  neighborhod  to  her, 

Withdrew  to  foretaste  of  revenge. 

St.  Pier.  Enough  ! 

Fer.  Enough  ] 

St.  Pier.  Tut,  tut !    I  only  meant 
Your  highness  to  break  off,  while  I  resume. 
My  thoughts  do  flow  again — better  and  better  ! 
Your  grace — a  hundred  ducats,  I  have  done 
Almost  as  soon  as  you — go  on — what  end 
Proposed  your  highness  to  yourself  by  this  ] 

Fer.  To  blast  her  name,  and  in  the  death  of  thnt 
Involve  my  cousin's  life  !  accordingly 
By  my  direction  wert  thou  watched  and  seized, 
And  hither  brought  as  partner  in  a  erne, 
Whose  penalty  is  death — which  thou  shalt  'scapo— 


64 


THE  WIFE. 


'Act  if 


"Scape  with  enriched  life — so  ne'er  again 
Thou  show'st  thy  face  in  Mantua,  and  keep'st 
Thy  counsel. 

St.  Pie?\  [  Writing.]  Have  you  done  ? 

Fer.  I  have. 

St.  Pier.  And  so 
Have  I — a  fair  commencement !  better  far 
Continuation  !  and  the  winding  up 
The  fairest  of  the  whole  !  howsoe'er  of  that 
Your  highness  shall  be  judge  : — 'sdeath,  here's  a  word 
I  did  not  mean  to  write,  for  one  I  wanted  ! 
1  needs  must  take  it  out. — I  pray  your  highness 
Lend  me  a  knife. 

Fer.  I  have  not  one. 

St.  Pier.  Well,  then, 
Your  dagger — if  the  edge  of  it  is  sharp. 

Fer.  There  'tis. 

St.  Pier.  And  there  is  the  confession,  duke, 
Sign  it. 

Fer.  Why,  this  is  my  confession  ! 

St.  Pier.  Ay, 
Indeed,  your  highness  1 

Fer.  Word  for  word. 

St.  Pier.  You'll  own 
I'm  something  of  a  clerk — I  hardly  hoped 
It  would  have  pleased  your  highness  !    My  lord  duke 
Sign  the  confession. 

Fer.  Why  ? 

St.  Pier.  It  pleases  me. 
If  that  contents  thee  not,  I'm  in  thy  power, 
And  I'd  have  thee  in  mine  !    Your  highness  sees 
I  am  frank  with  you. 

Fer.  Can  it  be  you,  St.  Pierre  1 

St.  Pier.  No — it  is  you  ! — and  not  the  peasant  lad. 
Whom  fifteen  years  ago  in  evil  hour 
You  chanced  to  cross  upon  his  native  hills, — 
Tn  whope  quick  eye  you  saw  the  subtle  spirit 
Which  suited  you,  and  temyted  it ;  who  took 
Your  hint  and  followed  you  to  Mantua 
Without  his  father's  knowledge—his  old  fatrei 
Who,  thinking  that  he  had  a  prop  in  him 
Man  could  not  rob  him  of,  and  heaven  would  spare, 


tjitHE  nr.] 


THE  WIFK. 


65 


Blessed  him  one  night,  ere  he  laid  down  to  sleep, 
And  waking  in  the  morning  found  him  gone  ! 

[Ferrardo  attempts  to  rise 
Move  not,  or  I  shall  move — you  know  me  ! 
Fer.  Nay, 

I'll  keep  my  seat.    St.  Pierre,  I  trained  thee  like 
A  cavalier ! 

St.  Pier.  You  did — you  gave  me  masters, 
And  their  instructions  quickly  I  took  up 
As  they  did  lay  them  down  !    I  got  the  start 
Of  my  contemporaries  ! — not  a  youth 
Of  whom  could  read,  write,  speak,  command  a  weapon, 
Or  rule  a  horse  with  me  !  you  gave  me  all — 
All  the  equipments  of  a  man  of  honor, — 
But  you  did  find  a  use  for  me,  and  made 
A  slave,  a  profligate  of  me.  [Ferrardo  about  to  rise 

I  charge  you  keep  your  seat ! 

Fer.  You  see  I  do  ! 
St.  Pierre,  be  reasonable  ! — you  forget 
There  are  ten  thousand  ducats. 

St.  Pier.  Giv»e  me,  duke, 
The  eyes  that  looked  upon  my  father's  face  ! 
The  hands  that  helped  my  father  to  his  wish  ! 
The  feet  that  flew  to  do  my  father's  will ! 
The  hear',  chat  bounded  at  my  father's  voice  ! 
And  say  that  Mantua  were  built  of  ducats, 
And  I  could  be  its  duke  at  cost  of  these, 
I  would  not  give  them  for  it !    Mark  me,  duke ! 
I  saw  a  new-made  grave  in  Mantua, 
And  on  the  head- stone  read  my  father's  name  ; — 
To  seek  me  doubtless,  hither  he  had  come — 
To  seek  the  child  that  had  deserted  him — 
And  died  here, — ere  he  found  me. 
Heaven  can  tell  how  far  he  wandered  else  ! 
Upon  that  grave  I  knelt  an  altered  man, 
A.nd  rising  thence,  I  fled  from  Mantua.    Nor  had  returned 
Rut  tyrant  hunger  drove  me  back  again 
To  thee — to  thee  ! — My  body  to  relieve 
At  cost  of  my  dear  soul  !    I  have  done  thy  work, 
Do  mine  !  and  sign  me  that  confession  straight. 
I'm  in  your  pow'r,  and  I'll  have  thee  in  mine  1 

Fer.  Art  thou  indeed  in  earnest  ] 


56 


THE  WIFE. 


[Act? 


St.  Pier.  Look  in  my  eyes. 

Fer.  Saint  Pierre,  perhaps  I  have  underpaid  thee  1 

St.  Pier.  Sign  ! 

Fer.  I'll  double  the  amount ! 

St.  Pier.  Come,  sign  ! 

Fer.  Saint  Pierre, 
Will  forty  thousand  ducats  please  thee  ? 

St.  Pier.  There's 
The  dial,  and  the  sun  is  shining  on  it — 
The  shadow  is  on  the  very  point  of  twelve — 
My  case  is  desperate  !    Your  signature 
Of  vital  moment  is  unto  my  peace  ! 
My  eye  is  on  the  dial  !    Pass  the  shadow 
The  point  of  noon,  the  breadth  of  but  a  hair 
As  can  my  eye  discern — and,  that  unsigned, 
The  steel  is  in  thy  heart — I  speak  no  more  ! 

Fer.  Saint  Pierre  ! — Not  speak  % — Saint  Pierre  ! 

St.  Pier.  Is  it  signed  1 

Fer.  [  Writing  hurriedly.']  It  is  ! 

St.  Pier.  Your  signet,  as  a  proof  I  am  at  large. 
Now  take  my  station  in  that  closet — No 
Attempt  at  an  alarm — In,  in,  I  say  ! 

Hold  wind  we'll  make  the  port. — I  thank  your  highness  ! 

[  Opens  door,  speaks  aloud,  and  Exit. 

END  OF  ACT  IV. 


ACT     V  . 

[The  First  Scene  of  this  Act  is  entirely  omitted  on  the  Stage.] 

Scene  I. — A  street  in  Mantua. 

Enter  Bartolo  and  Bernardo  meeting. 
Ber  Whither  so  fast,  Bartolo  1 

Bar  I  know  not ! — any  where — every  where.  I  would 
I  were  as  many  men  as  there  are  streets  in  Mantua,  that 
I  might  be  in  every  part  cf  the  city  at  the  same  time. 
Have  you  any  news  ! 


Scene  I  J 


THE  WIFE. 


Ber.  No. 

Bar.  Nothing  of  St.  Pierre  1 
Ber.  No. 

Bar.  Nothing  of  the  Duchess  ! 
Ber.  No. 

Bar.  I  have  fasted  twelve  hours  together  and  upwards, 
and  never  hungered  for  a  meal — as  I  hunger  for  news. 
Is  not  that  Carlo  ]  Signor  Carlo  ! — Hoa  !  hilloa  ! — here 
— Signor  Carlo  ! — make  haste — make  haste  ! 

Enter  Carlo,  running. 

Car.  Well,  Signor  Bartolo  ! — what's  the  matter  1 

Bar.  Can  you  tell  me  any  news  1 

Car.  No,  Signor. 

Bar.  Nothing  of  the  Duchess  1 

Car.  No. 

Bar.  Nothing  of  St.  Pierre  1 
Car.  No. 

Bar.  Can  I  meet  with  no  one  who  will  tell  me  any 
news  1 

Car.  By  the  bye,  a  horseman  just  now  alighted  near  the 
palace. 

Bar.  [Going  to  run  off.\  Indeed  ! 
Car.  Stop  !  you  wont  find  him  now. 
Bar.  Well ! 

Car.  He  had  ridden  at  full  speed. 

Bar.  He  had  !  go  on,  Signor  Carlo. 

Car.  In  less  than  a  minute  a  crowd  gathered  round  him 
— men,  women,  and  children — asking  all  at  once  for  the 
news. 

Bar.  Go  on,  dear  Signor  Carlo  ! 

Car.  You  never  heard  such  a  clatter — '  Have  they  found 
the  duchess  V — 1  Have  they  caught  St.  Pierre  V  1  The 
news' — '  The  news  !'  and  not  a  soul  would  hold  his  tongue 
to  listen  to  the  news  ;  and  what  do  you  think  it  was  1 

Bar.  I  am  dying  to  know  ! 

Car.  Why  his  wife  had  got  scalded,  and  he  had  come  to 
town  for  a  leech. 

Ber.  There's  news  for  you  at  last,  Signor  Bartoio  ! 
But  whither  were  you  running  ] 

Car.  To  my  breakfast — I  have  been  up  since  four—* 
have  you  breakfasted  yet  ] 


58 


THE  WIFE. 


,Act  V 


Ber.  No. 

Car.  Wilt  thou  go  home  with  me  ? 

Ber.  I  care  not  if  I  do  !  But  look  at  Sign  M  Bartolo— 
what's  the  matter,  Signor  1 

Bar.  I  wonder  if  they  will  not  be  overtaken — The  poor 
duchess. 

Ber.  Mark  if  he  is  not  weeping — what  a  tender-hearted 
lad  he  is  ! 

Bar.  I  am  a  tender-hearted  lad,  Signor  Bernardo— I 
can  cry  by  the  hour !  Tell  me  a  doleful  tale,  and  see  if 
my  handkerchief  is  not  out. 

Ber.  And  what  are  you  weeping  for  now  1 
Bar.  To  think  of  the  duchess — if  she  should  be  caught ! 
The  poor  duchess — the  fair  duchess  !  what  a  sight  it  would 
be  !    Though  I  had  to  walk  a  hundred  miles,  I'd  come  to 
see  it. 

Ber.  What  would  you  come  to  see  ! 

Bar.  [  Crying.]  Her  execution,  Signor  Bernardo.  How 
J  would  hold  my  breath  !  How  my  heart  would  beat ! 
How  I  would  weep  for  the  poor  dear  duchess ! 

Enter  Marco,  hastily. 

Marco.  They  are  caught  !    They  are  caught ! 

Bar.  Are  they,  dear  Signor  Marco  ]  kind  Signor  Marce 
— when,  where,  and  how  1 

Marco.  On  the  other  side  of  the  lake — ten  minutes  ago 
and  by  half  a  dozen  burghers  that  luckily  fell  in  witn  them. 

Bar.  Oh  dear !  put  your  hand  to  my  heart,  Signor  Car- 
lo. Feel  how  it  beats  !  Kind  Signor  Marco,  go  on  ! 
'Tis  all  over  with  them! 

Mai'co.  And  so  it  ought  to  be — two  arrant  thieves. 

Bar.  Thieves  !  Signor  Marco  !  thieves  ! 

Marco.  Ay,  thieves  !  what  could  you  call  them  t  They 
found  upon  them  a  salver  of  gold  and  two  massy  cupe  of 
the  same  metal,  all  marked  with  the  duke's  arms.  If  that 
is  not  thievery,  I  know  not  what  is. 

Bar.  Signor  Carlo — Signor  Bernardo  !  Heard  you  ev- 
er the  like  1  To  carry  off  the  duke's  plate  !  Go  on.  dear 
Signor  Marco, — how  lucky  I  had  not  gone  before  vom 
came — go  on— do,  prithee  !  I  suppose  they  will  wai*-  &<c 
the  duke  before  anything  is  done  1 


■CEWE  II  ] 


THE  WIFE. 


'  Marco.  Not  they  !  what  need  to  wait  for  the  luke — 
summary  justice  will  be  done  upon  them. 

Bar.  Summary  justice  !  think  of  that !  O  dear  Signor 
Bernardo  !  Signor  Carlo,  O  dear,  I  shall  never  be  able 
to  stand  it. 

Marco.  Stand  what  ] 

Bar.  The  sight — good,  kind,  dear  Signor  Marco,  doesn't 
your  heart  bleed  for  them  1 

Marco.  Does  yours,  Signor  Bartolo  ] 

Bar.  It  does  ;  look  at  my  eyes.  If  you  never  saw  rain 
from  a  pair  of  eyes  before,  there  'tis  for  you.  Rain  pelting 
— Signor  Marco,  pelting  rain.    Summary  justice,  say  you '{ 

Marco.  Yes,  they  are  to  be  whipt  at  noon. 

Bar.  Whipped!  Bernardo! — Carlo!  Whipped!  You 
do  not  say  whipped  1 

Marco.  But  I  do  ! 

Bar.  Who  are  to  be  whipped  ! 

Marco.  Why,  the  two  rascals  who  broke  into  the  duke's 
jewellers  last  night. 

Bar.  What  a  fool  you  are,  Signor  Marco  !  I  thought  it 
was  St.  Pierre  and  the  duchess  that  had  been  taken.  And 
we  shall  have  no  execution  after  all !  See,  Signors,  see  ! 
A  horseman  at  full  speed  has  just  passed  the  end  of  the 
street,  in  the  direction  of  the  palace.  News — Signors, 
news  !  Who  makes  the  best  use  of  his  legs,  shall  have  the 
first  on't.  [Exit  running — the  rest  following. 

Scene  II. — A  tent. 

Leonardo,  Officer,  and  Soldiers  discovered. 
Leon.  I'faith,  a  glorious  close  !  our  brief  campaign 
Hath  pass'dlike  sport  upon  a  summer's  day, 
Without  a  cloud  : — a  game,  where  fortune  lay 
All  on  one  side — and  that  was  ours  ! 
Give  order  for  the  striking  of  our  tents 
At  earliest  dawn — I  '11  but  salute  the  sun, 
And  straight  for  Mantua.        [Exeunt  Officer-  and  Soldiert 

O  sweet  the  sight 
Of  his  dear  native  land  to  him  who  brings 
A  brow,  with  honors  laden,  back  to  it ! 
Dear  Mantua,  that  twice  has  given  me  life  ! 
Once  in  the  breath  which  first  I  drew  in  it, 


60 


THE  WIFE. 


[Ac-  * 


Now  in  the  gift,  without  the  having  which 

That  breath  were  given  in  vain !    How  does, my  wife, 

Bright  crown  of  my  bright  fortunes  ?    O  my  heart — 

How  does  my  love  ? — the  plume  of  victory 

I've  won,  but  wear  not  till  I  see  it  nod 

In  the  bright  mirror  of  her  glistening  eye. 

When  shall  that  be  ? — to-morrow  1 — blest  to-morrow, 

Would — would  thou  wast  to-day  ! 

Enter  Second  Officer,  r. 

Off.  Your  cousin,  and  the  nobles  who  compose 
Your  highness'  council,  with  your  confessor, 
And  advocate  of  state,  attend  without — in  haste,  and  ne** 
From  Mantua. 

Leon.  The  tidings  of  our  truce 
Can  scarce  have  reached  them  yet  ]    Bad  news  flies  quick, 
I  deem'd  not  good  was  of  so  swift  a  wing. 
Admit  them. 

Enter  Ferrado,  Florio,  Antonio,  Lorenzo,  and 
"Nobles,  c. 

Welcome,  cousin — welcome  all ! 

Note  of  our  victory  I  see  has  reached  you, 

And  ye  are  come  to  give  me  greeting,  which 

I  gladly  should  have  journey'd  to  receive  : — 

But  where's  my  duchess  ]    She  had  been,  methinks, 

A  fair  addition  to  your  cavalcade — 

You  might  have  brought  her  with  you. 

[  To  Ferrardo,  who  drops  his  tyu 

Strangers  yet — 

Nay,  then,  the  fault,  I'm  positive,  is  yours, 
Had  you  but  dropp'd  a  hint  of  your  intent, 
And  given  a  glance  of  invitation  to  her, 
She  would  have  ta'en  it  as  a  ready  friend, 
Given  you  her  hand,  and  thank'd  you  for  the  leave 
To  bear  you  company. 

Fer.  Your  highness'  pardon  ; 
A  man  can't  help  his  doubts,  e'en  if  he  would, 
And  I  have  grounds,,  and  solid  ones,  for  mine. 

Leon.  Fie,  fie — offend  in  any  other  thing, 
And  ere  you  ask  you're  pardoned !    Here  are  friends- 
Friends  of  my  love's  and  mine — tried  friends,  and  yet 


SCEWB  II.] 


THE  WIFE. 


61 


Not  friends  in  this — to  leave  my  wife  behind, 

Who  loves  me  best, — when  they  in  zeal  of  love 

Are  here  to  give  me  joy  of  my  high  fortune. 

How  does  my  lady,  friend  1    How  does  she,  father  1 

Why  comes  she  not  to  greet  me  ? — You  should  be 

Her  harbingers — a  step  or  two  before  ] 

Or  bring  ye  charge  from  her  to  expedite 

My  long'd  return  to  Mantua,  as  if 

My  heart  were  not  remembrancer  enough  1 

For  never  speed  me,  heaven,  if  life  is  life — 

if  I  do  feel  I  live  beneath  the  sun, — 

Am  what  I  am,  the  very  fool  of  fortune, — 

Until  I  stand  in  her  sweet  sight  again. 

\Ferrardo  and  Florio  whisper, 
Why  whisper,  ye  1  [Antonio  and  Lorenzo  whisper. 

And  ye  do  whisper,  too — 
Ha !    By  your  looks,  I  noted  not  before, 
Ye  come  to  tell  me  of  disaster  !  speak  ! 
The  sum  on't  1    'Tis  heavy — what  is  it  % 
Come,  name  me  the  amount !    Is  it  my  dukedom  1 
Or  what  1 — 'tis  nothing  of  my  wife — say  that — 
And  say  aught  else  which  stern  misfortune  prompts  ! 
Blow  wind,  mount  wave, — no  rock  to  shut  me  thence, 
I  see  the  strand  to  run  my  bark  ashore, 
And  smile  upon  my  shipwreck. 

Fcr.  'Tis  of  her 
We  came  to  speak. 

Leon.  'Tis  no  mishap  to  her — 
For  you  do  speak  in  anger,  not  in  grief. 
If  what  you  come  to  say  affects  reproach — 
Reproach  of  her  !  speak  out — speak  ye  the  truth, 
Ye  cannot  speak  in  anger  ! 

Fer.  That  our  duty 
Permitted  us  to  leave  you  in  that  mind ! 

Lean.  Pshaw  !  do  thy  duty — be  it  duty — 'tis 
Beyond  its  power  of  other  mind  to  make  me. 

Fcr.  Thy  lady  is  false  to  thee. 

Leon.  [Drawing.]  Thy  tongue  is  false 
To  thee. — It  puts  thy  life  in  jeopardy; 
Recall  thy  words,  or  die. 

Flo.  My  gracious  liege, 
He  speaks  th  s  truth  ! 

F 


(i£  THE  WIFE.  [Act  * 

Leon.  Thou  too ! 

Lor.  Your  highness'  patience. 
What  speaks  your  cousin,  fain  would  I  deny, 
But  cannot. 

Leon.  I  do  only  doubt  which  way 
To  point  my  sword  ! 

Ant.  Your  highness — 

Leon.  What  say  you  ? 
Speak  out,  thou  reverend  man ! — there  only  wants 
Thy  tongue  to  prove  how  little  heavenward  do 
The  thoughts  of  men  incline,  when  her — heaven's  work- 
That  bears,  as  never  did  a  thing  of  earth, 
The  glorious  impress  of  its  shining  hand — 
These  men  would  filch  from  heaven.    Come,  side  with 
them, 

And  say  my  wife  is  false  ! 

Ant.  My  gracious  liege, 
Restrain  your  ire  at  what  you  would  not  hear, 
And  audience  give  to  what  you  ought  to  hear. 
If  facts,  avouched  by  eyes,  may  be  believed, 
I  say — that  would  not  say  it — thou  art  wronged. 
Peruse  that  paper — there  you  have  our  grounds 
For  saying  what  we  say. 

Lor.  O  read,  my  liege  ! 
"  Think  'tis  our  duty  speaks,  and  what  it  says 
"  Says  at  the  cost  of  our  unfeigned  love, — 
i(  Which,  sooner  than  mischarge  should  undermine 
"  Thy  towering  happiness,  would  be  itself 
'  The  seaward  mole,  to  meet  the  rushing  wave 
"  And  break  its  fury  ere  it  bursts  on  thee  ! 
"  But  wind  and  tide  together  setting  in 
"Will  sometimes  overwhelm  all  obstacles — 
"  So  needs  must  fall  this  heavy  surge  01  thee 
"  Which  we  let  o'er  in  drowning  !" 

Leon.  I  read  it — not 
That  I  do  fear  it — or  give  credence  to  it. 

Fer.  Your  highness  sees  how  fact  doth  hinge  on  fact. 

Leon.  No  ! — I  see  nothing  ! 

Fer.  Nothing  ! 

Leon.  Not  a  jot 
That  might  not  be  contrived,  and  against  which 
Improbability  doth  net  set  its  face. 


Scrim  III.] 


THE  "WIFE. 


My  lord — my  lord — you  love  me  not — nor  you— 

Nor  you — I  doubt  if  any  loves  me  here  : 

I  doubt  all  things  but  that  my  wife  is  true— 

I  will  to  Mantua,  this  very  hour, 

To  crave  her  pardon  that  I  listen  to  you. 

Fer.  My  lord,  she's  fled  from  Mantua. 

Leon.  She  is  what  % 

Fer.  She's  filed  from  Mantua,  as  also  is 
Her  paramour. 

Leon.  Recall  that  word,  or  else 
Thou  mak'st  me  do  a  murder  !    Is  she  fled  1 
Cousin,  thou  murder'st  me  !    Speaks  he  the  truth 
Gainsay  him,  and  I  heed  not  what  ye  say ! 
Cousin,  thou  didst  but  hear  that  she  was  fled, 
Thou  dost  not  speak  from  thine  own  knowledge  1 

Fer.  Else 
I  had  not  spoken. 

Leon.  Fled — in  company— 

Fer.  "What  else  could  I  infer  1 — 

Leon.  Thou  but  infer'st  it. 
Come  then,  all's  well ! — Let  her  be  fled  or  not, 
She  has  fled  perhaps  to  friends,  perhaps  to  me  ! 

Enter  Second  Officer,  with  Mariana,  c. 

Second  Offi.  My  liege,  the  duchess. 

Leon.  Ha  !  I  told  you  so  ! 
Welcome,  my  loved — my  wronged — my  innocent- 
Welcome,  my  loyal  wife  ! 

Mar.  My  liege,  stand  off! 
Embrace  me  at  the  peril  of  your  honor  ! 
Your  cousin  here  !  the  count !  your  confessor  ! 
And  he  ! — and  these  the  members  of  your  council, 
My  tongue  may  save  its  labor,  then.    Yet  whose 
So  fit  to  tell  my  husband,  he's  the  lord 
Of  a  dishonored  bed, — as  her's,  whose  heart, — 
That  ne'er  admitted  thought  of  man  save  him, 
Knew  not  its  part  that  was  not  given  to  him, 
Before  itself  as  dearer  heart  set  him, 
Sun,  earth,  life,  health,  desire,  knew  naughrbut  him- 
Yet  could  not  guard  the  jewel  paramount 
Of  what  it  loved  so  well,  but  by  an  act 
Without  a  motive — monstrous  to  belief — 


64  THE  WIFE.  rAct  ? 

Which  rewon  unto  mudness  would  refsr — 
Nay,  doubt  that  even  madness*  self  could  do  ! 
What  it  so  loved,  did  spoil,  and  bring  at  once 
From  proudest  wealth  to  basest  penury ! 

Leon.  No — thou  did'st  never  swerve. — Truth  dwells  iu 
thee, 

Thou  art  all  radiant  with  it ! 

Mar.  Not  a  doubt ! 
My  trusting  lord  !  my  dear  and  honor'd  lord  ! 

[  Throws  herself  at  his  feet. 

Leon.  [Endeavoring  to  raise  her.]  Up  to  my  heart ! 

Mar.  No — by  thy  love  ! 

Leo?i.  I  say 
I'll  have  thee  up — thy  place  is  here  ! 

Mar.  "  [Preventing  hi??i.]  My  lord  V* 
What  holds  that  paper  1  tell  me,  is  it  not 
My  accusation  ]    Let  me  see  it — True 
From  first  to  last. — The  facts  not  otherwise 
Than  here  set  down.    Would'st  take  me  to  thy  heart, 
And  this  against  me  1 

"  Leon.  Yes. 

"  Mar.  Nay,  speak  again, 
"  And  think  before  you  speak.    Say  that  the  duke 
"  Your  cousin,  loves  you  not !  bay  that  the  count 
"  Doth  owe  you  grudge  ! — say  these,  the  members  of 
"  Your  highness*  council,  are  suborn'd  by  them — 
"  Here  stand  two  honest  men  who  take  their  side  ! 
"  Would'st  take  me  to  thy  heart,  and  this  against  mo  V* 

Leon.  I  would. 

Mar.  And  if  you  would,  you  should  not  do  it! 

Leon.  It  is  a  plot. 

Mar.  It  is — 
But  thou,  my  lord,  must  prove  it  to  be  one  ! 
Else  it  hath  oped  a  chasm  'twixt  thee  and  me, 
Which,  till  thou  close  it  up,  or  bridge  it  o'er 
With  stable-footed  truth,  that  all  may  trust, 
May  not  be  cross'd. — Leap  it — and  all  is  lost ! 

Leon.  Canst  give  me  clue  to  find  it  out  ] 

Mar.  Methinks 
I  can.    Thy  cousin  counsell'd  me  to  fly, 
To  'scape,  as  he  did  say,  the  penalty 
Of  my  imputed  crime, — but,  as  I  thought, 


«CEWX  III.] 


THE  WIFE. 


65 


To  furnish  of  that  crime  conclusive  proof: — 
Supplied  me  too  with  ample  store  of  gold — 

Leon.  Traitor !    I  see  it  all — and  do  not  you  t 
My  cousin  and  my  subject  though  thou  art, 
To  solemn  mortal  combat  I  defy  thee ! 
That  from  thy  lips,  at  point  of  my  true  sword, 
Admission  I  extort  of  an  attempt 
To  slur  my  lady's  honor  : — for  thy  soul 
No  shriving  knows,  no  healing  speech  with  priest, 
Till  by  confession  it  heaves  off  that  sin. 
Come  forth  % 

Ma?\  No  !  no  !  let  me  be  guilty  thought, 
But,  oh  !  in  peril  place  not  thou  thy  life  ! 
Or  let  me  prove  myself  my  innocence 
By  ordeal  of  poison  or  of  fire  ; 
"  Or  take  from  me,  of  unpolluted  blood, 
u  Lucretia's  proof  of  an  unstained  soul, 
"  Unable  to  survive  hor  body's  shame." 
Do  aught  but  put  thy  life  in  jeopardy  ! 

"  Leon.  And  she  could  injure  me  ! 

"  Fer.  It  is  the  trick 
"  Of  lapsed  virtue  to  affect  excess, 
"  Which  sound  desert  would  sooner  wrong  itself 
"  Than  claim  pretension  to. 

"  Leon.  It  is  the  trick 
"  Of  villainy  to  lie."    Come  forth  ! 

Fcr.  Lead  on  ! 

"  Mar.  \Embracing  Mi  knees.]  My  lord  !  my  lord  my 

husband !" 
Leon.  Loose  thine  armj  ! 

Mar.  It  is  mine  heart-strings  hold  thee,  not  mine  arms. 
Wilt  snap  them  %    If  thou  wilt  thou  hast  a  right ! 
They  are  thine  own  !  but  wilt  thou  use  that  right  ? 

Leon.  Take  her  away  ! 

Mar.  When  fails  our  dearest  friend 
There  may  be  refuge  with  our  direst  foe. 

[Rushing  up  to  Ferra?de, 
Oh  !  why  art  thou  my  foe  1  how  lies  my  peace 
Between  thy  good  and  thee  1    Is  it  thy  good 
To  slay  my  peace  !     Wilt  thou  not  look  upon  me  ? 
Alas  !  thine  eyes  are  better  turn'd  away  ! 
Fot  gazing  on  them,  human  as  they  are, 


66 


THE  WIFE 


[Act  ▼ 


I  have  a  feeling  of  a  heart  of  stone  : 
1  And  from  my  hopeless  tears  thy  spirit  flies, 
"  That  frozen  on  my  lids  I  feel  them  hang!" 
Thou  rock  !    Affliction  did  I  plead  to  thee — 
I  turn  from  thee,  Despair  ! 

Lean.  Come  forth ! 

Fer.  Lead  on  ! 

Enter  St.  Pierre,  behind,  c. 

Mar.  No  way  to  hold  thee  from  thy  bloody  purpose  1 
Stop  !  thou  wilt  do  a  murder  !    Art  thou  sure 
Thy  wife  is  innocent !    Thou  know'st  not  what 
Thou  go'st  to  !    "  Whate'er  befals,  the  sin 
'*  Of  all  the  deed  'tis  I  must  answer  for — 
'  The  hapless  wife  that  on  thy  house  and  thee 

Brought  ruin  ! — have  compassion  on  her  soul, 
"  If  not  upon  thy  own" — nay,  then,  yet  hear  me — stop— 
I'll  put  an  end  to  all — I  am — 

Fez:  Guilty  ! 

Mar.  No  ! 

To  save  thy  life — my  own — and  his  that's  heart 
Unto  my  life — I  cannot  speak  the  lie ! 

Leon.  And  if  thou  could'st  I'd  not  believe  thy  tongue— 
Though  Truth's  as  soon  could  lie. 

Fer.  No  tongue  on  earth 
Can  clear  her — she  is  false — to  eyes  and  ears 
Convicted  ! — she  is  an  adultress  ! 

St.  Pier.  [Rushing  forward?^  Liar  ! 
She  is  as  true  as  thou  art  false  ! 

Fer.  A  caitiff 
That  robb'd  me,  and  did  put  my  life  in  peril — 
But  I'll  be  quits  with  him 

Leon.  Prevent  him ! 

[Several  interfere,  but  not  till  St.  Pierre  is  wow+ded 

St.  Pier.  Not 
Quite  home,  your  Grace — yet  near,  I  hope,  enough  ! 
Your  Highness,  you  do  hear  a  dying  man  ; 
Your  wife  is  innocent ! 

Fer.  A  poor  gallant 
That  would  not  say  as  much  ! 

St.  Pier.  Your  Highness  read 
This  paper  !    Hold  his  Grace  ! 

a 


*cm  II.] 


THE  WIFE. 


«7 


Fer.  'Twas  forced  from  me. 

St.  Pier.  Only  the  signature,  my  lord — the  rest 
Was  voluntary — word  for  word — what  fell 
From  his  own  lips. 

Fer.  You  passed  the  night  beside  her — 
Alone — none  near  you — within  whisper  of  her  ! 
Find  pen  to  draw  'cross  that. 

St.  Pier.  I  pray  your  Highness, 
Wears  not  your  wife  a  little  rustic  cross, 
Carv'd  by  no  craftsman's  hand  % 

Mar.  I  do — the  same 
I  show'd  thee  when  we  spoke  together. 

St.  Pier.  'Twas 
Your  brother  gave  it  you. 

Mar.  It  was. 

St,  Pier.  I  think, 
Some  fifteen  years  ago  1 

Mar.  So  many  years 
Have  pass'd  since  that  dear  brother  gave  it  m6, 
I  was  a  child  then — he  almost  a  man  ! 

*S^.  Pier.  You  woke  one  morning,  did  you  not,  and  saw 
That  brother  standing,  weeping  by  your  bed  :— 
He  blessed  you,  put  that  cross  upon  your  neck, 
Kissed  you,  and  bade  farewell  to  you,  and  went — 
You  never  saw  him  more. — Pray  you  come  near  ! 
O  God  !  my  mother's  face  1 

Mar.  My  brother — Ambrose  ! 

"St.  Pier.  Yes,  Mariana! 

"  For.  I'st  a  masque,  your  highness, 
"  They've  got  up  to  amuse  you  1 

"  Leon.  Hence  with  him  ! 
«*  The  Count  too  ! 

"  Fer.  I'm  your  slave,  most  gracious  cousin,— 
•  Yet  is  there  one  thing  wherein  I  am  free. 

M  Leon.  And  what  is  that  1 
Fer.  To  hate  thee  !  and  I  do  so  !" 

[Exeunt  Ferrardo  and  Count  tUtended. 
Mar.  Brother,  I  said  I  knew  thee  !    Thou  forgot'st 
Thy  sister's  little  face  to  woman's  grown  ; 
But  I  remembered  thine  enough  to  feel 
'T*vas  something  once  had  been  familiar  dear  ! 


68 


THE  WIFE. 


TActT 


O  that  my  memory  had  better  kept 

What  my  heart  treasured — thou  didst  prove  how  well ! 

"  Wilt  thou  not  speak  to  me  !    Hear'st  thou,  my  brother] 

"  St.  Pic?'.  Our  father's  cottage,  Mariana!" 

Mar.  Ha! 
Thou  faintest ! 

St.  Pier.  No — it  is  nothing,  sister ! 
What  makes  thee  look  so  pale  and  vanishing-  ? 
Don't  go  from  me  !    Alas — 'tis  I  am  going  ! 
"  I  have  confessed  myself'!"    Pray  for  me,  sister  ! 
Mine  eyes  have  lost  thee  ! — But  I  feel  thee  still, 
That's  comfort ! — yet — I  have  thee  in  my  arms — 
Thou  fadest  too  from  them — fast !  fast ! — thou  art  gone  ! 

[St.  Pierre  dies, 


No.  LII. 

FRENCH'S  STANDARD  DRAMA. 


E  V  ADNE: 

OR, 

THE  STATUE. 


IN  FIVE  ACTS. 
BY  RICHARD  SHEIL. 


WITH  THE  STAGE  BUSINESS,  CAST  OF  CHARACTERS,  COS- 
TUMES, RELATIVE  POSITIONS,  &c. 


NEW-YORK : 

SAMUEL  FRENCH, 

121  NASSAU-STREET. 

PRICE»  12£  CENTS. 


CAST   OF  CHARACTERS. 


Covent  Garden,  1818.  Bowery,  1847. 


The  King  of  Naples                  Mr.  Abbott.  Mr.  Jordan. 

Ludovico,  his  favourite                "    Macready.  u  Neajie. 

Colauna                                    "    Youngs             -  "  Booth. 

Vicentio                                  "    C.Kcmbk.  •*  Clarke. 

Spalatro                                   "    Connor.  44  Venue. 

Evadne                                    Miss  O'Neill.  Mrs.  Shaw. 

Olivia                                     Mrs.  Faucit.  "  Madison. 


Scene — Naples. 


COSTUMES 

The  King. — King's  shirt  or  royal  purple  velvet,  reaching  nearly  to  the 
ancle,  handsomely  trimmed  with  gold  leather  and  spangle-,  also  with  er- 
mine, hanging  sleeves,  with  tight  ones  under  ;  richly  trimmed  over- 
robe  of  dark  green  velvet  and  gold,  white  silk  tights,  black  velvet  shoes, 
and  handsome  lillet  of  jewels,  &c. 

Ludovico. — Cream-coloured  tight  pantaloons,  trimmed  up  the  sides  with 
red  and  gold,  jacket  and  fly  to  match,  same  style  aslago's,  white  plumes 
and  cap,  yellow  Hessian  boots,  gold  tassels,  sword,  and  gauntlets. 

Colonna. — Same  style  as  Ludovico,  but  scarlet  tights  trimmed  with  gold, 
yellow  jacket  and  fly,  trimmed  with  red  and  gold,  cap  and  red  plumes, 
yellow  Hessian  boots,  sword  and  white  gauntlets.  • 

Vicentio. — White  tight  pantaloons,  white  jacket  and  fly,  same  as  Ludo- 
vico, all  handsomely  trimmed  with  red  and  gold,  white  hat  and  plumes, 
white  gloves,  hand  ruffles  and  sword. 

Spalatko — Scarlet  shirt,  trimmed  round  the  bottom  with  gold,  amber 
scarf,  red  and  white  plumes,  white  tights,  boots,  sword  and  gauntlets. 

Conspirators. — Ibid. 

Guards. — Armour,  shirts,  leggings,  and  helmets. 

Evadne. — Pearl  white  satin  bodice  and  train,  all  richly  trimmed  with  gold". 
Olivia. — Same  as  Evadne's,  but  of  scarlet  velvet. 

Pages. — Buff*  tunics,  trimmed  with  black  and  silver,  white  silk  tights, 
ancle  boots,  and  white  scarfs. 


EXITS  AND  ENTRANCES. 

R.  means  Right  ;  L.  Left  ;  R.  D.  Rigid  Door  ;  L.  D.  Left  Bow  ;  S.  E. 
Second  Entrance  ;  U.  E.  Upper  Entrance  ;.M.  D.  Middle  JJoor. 

RELATIVE  POSITIONS. 

R.,  means  Right  ;  L.,  Left  ;  C,  Centre  ;  R.  C,  Right  of  Centre  ;  L.  C, 
Left  of  Centre. 


flu 

EVADNE; 

OK,  THE  STATUE. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. —  The  Palace  of  the  King  of  Naples. 

The  King,  Spalatro,  and  Ten  Courtiers,  Six  Guards,  and 
Two  Banners,  discovered. 

King.    Didst  say  the  Marquis  of  Colonna  prays 
Admission  to  our  presence  ? 

Sped.    Ay,  my  liege  ; 
He  stands  in  the  ante-chamber,  with  a  brow 
As  stern  as  e'er  was  knitted  in  the  folds 
Of  rancorous  discontent. 

King.    I  have  noted  oft 
His  absence  from  the  court,  the  which  I  deem 
His  envy  of  our  true  Ludovico. 

Spal.    Deem  it  no  little  benefit,  my  liege  ; 
His  deep  and  murky  smile,  his  gathered  arms, 
In  whose  close  pride  he  folds  himself  ;  his  raw 
And  pithy  apothegms  of  scorn,  have  made  him 
Our  laughter  and  our  hatred  ;  we  are  all 
Grown  weary  of  this  new  Diogenes, 
Who  rolls  his  hard  and  new  philosophy 
Against  all  innocent  usage  of  the  court. 

King.    We  must  not  bid  him  hence  :  he  has  a  sister — • 

Spal.    The  fair  Evadne  ! 

King.    Fairer  than  the  morn  I 
Who  has  not  seen  her,  knows  of  beauty  less 
Than  blind  men  of  Aurora.    For  her  sake 
We  give  him  ample  scope,  and  we  are  glad 
He  comes  to  visit  us. 


8 


EVADNE. 


[Act  L 


Colonna.  (Without)  I'll  hear  no  more. 
Colonna  does  not  often  importune 
With  his  unwelcome  presence.    Let  me  pass  : 
For  once  I  must  be  heard. 

Enter  Colonxa,  l.,  followed  ly  two  Courtiers. 

My  liege  I 

1st  Cour.    Hold  back  ! 

2d  Cour.  What  right  hast  thou  to  rush  before  the  sight 
Of  sacred  royalty  ? 

Col.    The  right  that  all 
Good  subjects  ought  to  have  :  to  do  him  service. 
My  liege —  [C 'our tiers  retire,  l.,  and  Spal.  crosses  to  r. 

King.    You  are  welcome  ; 
And  would  you  had  brought  your  lovely  sister,  too. 

Col.    My  sister,  did  you  say  ?  my  sister  sire  ? 
She  is  not  fit  for  courts  ;  "  she  would  be  called— 
"  For  she  has  something  left  of  nature  still, — 
"  A  simple  creature  here.    She  cannot  cast 
"  Unholy  glances  from  a  sidelong  eye, 
"  Or  give  her  untouched  body  to  the  wreath 
"  Of  mazy  dances,  where  all  decency 
"  Is  lost  in  pleasure's  'wildered  labyrinth. 
"  She  is  not  fit  for  courts,"  and  I  have  hope 
She  never  will.    But,  let  it  pass  : — I  come 
To  implore  a  favour  of  you. 

King.  Whatso'er 
Colonna  prays,  sure  cannot  be  refused. 

Col.    The  favour  that  I  ask  is  one,  my  liege, 
That  princes  often  find  it  hard  to  grant. 
JTis  simply  this — that  you  will  hear  the  truth. 

King.    Proceed,  and  play  the  monitor,  my  lord. 

Col.    I  see  your  courtiers  here  do  stand  amazed— 
Of  them  I  first  would  speak.    There  is  not  one 
Of  this  wide  troop  of  glittering  parasites, 
That  circle  you,  as  priests  surround  their  god, 
With  sycophantic  incense,  but  in  soul 
Is  your  base  foe  !    These  smilers  here,  my  liege, 
Whose  dimples  seem  a  sort  of  honeycomb 
Filled  and  o'erfl owing  with  suavity  ; 
These  soft  melodious  flatterers,  "  my  liege, 
"  That  flourish  on  the  flexibility 


Scene  I.] 


EVADNE. 


M  Of  their  soft  countenances,  are  the  vermin 
"  That  haunt  a  prince's  ear  with  the  false  buzz 
"  Of  villanous  assentation."    These  are  they 
Who  from  your  mind  have  flouted  every  thought 
Of  the  great  weal  of  the  people.    These  are  they 
Who  from  your  ears  have  shut  the  public  cry, 
And  with  the  poisoned  gales  of  flattery 
Create  around  you  a  foul  atmosphere 
Of  unresounding  denseness,  through  the  which 
Their  loud  complaints  cannot  reverberate, 
And  perish  ere  they  reach  you. 

King.    Who  complains  ? 
Who  dares  complain  of  us. 

Col.    All  dare  complain 
J>ehind  you — I,  before  you  !    Do  not  think, 
Because  you  load  your  people  with  the  weight 
Of  camels,  they  possess  the  camel's  patience. 
A  deep  groan  labours  in  the  nation's  heart  ; 
The  very  calm  and  stillness  of  the  day 
Gives  augury  of  the  earthquake.    All  without 
Is  as  the  marble  smooth,  and  all  within 
Is  rotten  as  the  carcase  it  contains. 
Though  ruin  knock  not  at  the  palace  gate, 
Yet  will  the  palace  gate  unfold  itself 
To  ruin's  felt-shod  tread. 

King.    ( Aside.)  Insolent  villain. 

Col.    "  Your  gorgeous  banquets,  your  high  feasts  of  gold, 
"  Which  the  four  quarters  of  the  rifled  world 
"  Heap  with  their  ravished  luxuries  ;  your  pomps, 
"  Your  palaces,  and  all  the  sumptuousness 
"  Of  painted  royalty  will  melt  away, 
"  As  in  a  theatre  the  glittering  scene 
"Doth  vanish  with  the  shifter's  magic  hand, 
"  And  the  mock  pageant  perishes."    My  liege, 
A  single  /irtuous  action  hath  more  worth 
Than  all  the  pyramids  ;  and  glory  writes 
A  more  enduring  epitaph  upon 
One  generous  deed,  than  the  sarcophagus  • 
In  which  Sesostris  meant  to  sleep. 

Spal.  ( Coming  forward.)  Forbear  ! 
It  is  a  subject's  duty  to  arrest 
Thy  rash  and  blasohemous  speech. 


EVADNE. 


[Act  I. 


King.    Let  him  speak  on  ! 
The  monarch  who  can  listen  to  Colonna, 
Is  not  the  worthless  tyrant  he  would  make  me. 

Col.    I  deem  you  not  that  tyrant  :  if  I  did — 
No  !  Nature,  framing  yon,  did  kindly  mean, 
And  o'er  your  heart  hath  sprinkled  many  drops 
Of  her  best  charities.    But  you  are  led 
From  virtue  and  from  wisdom  far  away, 
By  men,  whose  every  look's  a  lie  ;  whose  hearts 
Are  a  large  heap  of  cankers,  and  of  whom 
The  chief  is  a  rank  traitor  ! 

King.    Traitor  !  whom  meanest  thou  ! 

Col.    Yonr  favourite,  your  minister,  my  liege  ; 
That  smooth-faced  hypocrite,  that — 

King.    Here  he  comes  ! 

Col.    It  is  the  traitor's  self  :  I  am  glad  of  it, 
That  to  his  face  I  may  confront — 

Enter  Ludovico,  r.,  and  advances  rapidly  to  the  King. 

Lud.    My  liege, 
[  hasten  to  your  presence,  to  inform  you — 
( Starting.)  Colonna's  here  ! 

Col.    The  same — Colonna's  here  ! 
And  if  you  wish  to  learn  his  theme  of  speech, 
Learn  that  lie  spoke  of  treason  and  of  you  ! 

Lud.    Did  I  not  stand  before  the  unhallowed  eye 
Of  majesty,  I  would  teach  thee  with  my  sword 
How  to  reform  thy  phrase  ;  but  I  am  now 
In  my  king's  presence,  and,  with  awe-struck  soul, 
As  if  within  religion's  peaceful  shrine, 
Humbly  I  bend  before  him. — What,  my  liege, 
Hath  this  professor  of  austerity, 
And  practiser  of  slander,  vomited 
Against  your  servant's  houour  ? 

King.    He  hath  called  you — 

Col.    A  traitor  !  and  I  warn  you  to  beware 
Of  the  false  viper  nurtured  in  your  heart. 
He  has  tilled  the  city  with  a  band  of  men, 
By  fell  allegiance  sworn  unto  himself. 
There  are  a  thousand  ruffians,  at  his  word 
Prepared  to  cut  our  throats  ;  the  city  swarms 
With  murderers'  faces  ;  and  though  treason  now 


Scene  I.] 


EVADNE. 


11 


Moves  like  a  mnfTlecl  dwarf,  'twill  speedily 
Swell  to  a  blood-robed  giant !    If,  my  liege, 
What  I  have  said  doth  not  unfilm  your  eye, 
Twerc  vain  to  tell  you  more.    u  And  I  desire  not 
"  To  hear  a  traitor  doling  out  before  you 
"  His  fluent  protestation,  till  at  last, 
"  With  insolent  mockery  of  attested  Heaven, 
11  From  the  believing  ear  of  royalty 
"  He  sucks  its  brains  out.    I  have  said,  my  liege, 
M  And  tried  to  interrupt  security 
"  Upon  her  purple  cushion  ;  he,  perhaps, 
"  Will  find  some  drowsy  syrup  to  lay  down 
"  Her  opening  eyelids  into  sleep  again, 
u  And  call  back  slumber  with  a  lullaby 
M  Of  sweetest  adulation."    Fare  you  well  I 
Lud.    Hold  back  ! 

Col.    Not  at  your  summons,  my  good  lord. 
The  courtly  air  cloth  not  agree  with  me, 
And  I  respire  it  painfully. — Mj  liege, 
Hear  my  last  words  :  Beware  Ludovico  ! 

Lud.    Villain,  come  back  ! 

Col.    I  wear  a  sword,  my  lord.  [Exit,  l 

Lud.    He  flies  before  me  ;  and  the  sight  of  him 
He  dares  accuse,  came  like  the  morning  sun 
On  the  night-walking  enemy  of  mankind, 
That  shrinks  before  the  day-light.    Yes,  he  fled, 
And  I  would  straight  pursue  him,  and  send  back, 
On  my  sword's  point,  his  falsehoods  to  his  heart  ; 
But  that  I  here,  before  the  assembled  court, 
Would  vindicate  myself.    A  traitor  !  who, 
In  any  action  of  Ludovico, 
Finds  echo  to  that  word  ? 

King.    I  cannot  think 
Thou  hast  paid  me  with  ingratitude. 

Lmd.    I  do  not  love  to  make  a  boisterous  boast 
Of  my  past  services,  and  marshal  forth 
In  glittering  array  the  benefit 
That  I  have  done  my  sovereign.    What  I  did, 
Was  but  my  duty.    Yet  would  I  inquire, 
If  he  who  has  fought  your  battles,  and  hath  made 
A  very  thrall  of  victory  ;  who  oft 
Has  back  to  Naples  from  the  field  of  fight 


12 


EVADNE. 


[Act  I. 


Led  your  triumphant  armies,  "  while  the  breeze 
"  Spread  out  the  royal  banner,  with  its  fold 
"  Of  floating  glory,  and  yourself  exclaimed,  - 
"  'Twas  unprofaned  by  one  small  drop  of  blood  ; 
"  If  he,  who  from  his  shoulders  has  ta'en  off 
"  The  heavy  mass  of  empire,  to  relieve 
"  His  sovereign  from  the  ponderous  load  of  rule, 
"  And  leave  you  but  its  pleasures" — he  whose  hand 
Hath  lined  the  oppressive  diadem  with  down, 
And  ta'en  its  pressure  from  the  golden  round  ; — 
If  he,  whose  cheek  hath  at  the  midnight  lamp 
Grown  pale  with  study  of  his  prince's  weal, 
Is  like  to  be  a  traitor  ? — who,  my  liege, 
Hath  often,  like  the  daylight's  God,  transpierced 
The  hydra-headed  monster  of  rebellion, 
And  stretched  it  bleeding  at  your  feet  ?  who  oft 
Hath  from  the  infuriate  people  exercised 
The  talking  demon,  Liberty,  11  and  choked 
"  The  voice  of  clamorous  demagogues"  ? — I  dare 
To  tell  you,  'twas  Ludovico  ! 
King.    It  was. 

Lud.    Who  calls  me  traitor  ?    He  whose  breath  doth  • 
taint 

Whate'er  it  blows  on — he — 
But  ask  yourself,  my  lord,  if  I  be  mad  ? 
For  were  I  that,  that  he  jvould  make  Ludovico, 
The  cells  of  frenzy,  not  tlie  scaffold's  plank, 
W ould  best  beseem  my  treason.    "  In  your  love 
"  My  fortunes  grow  and  flourish  unto  Heaven  j 
"  And  I  should  win  by  treason  but  the  load 
"  Of  the  world's  execration,  while  the  fierce 
"  And  ravenous  vulture  of  remorse  would  tear 
"  The  vitals  of  my  soul,  and  make  my  heart 
"  Its  black,  immortal  banquet ! — I  a  traitor  ! 
"  At  first,  I  only  meant  to  scorn  ;  but  now, 
"  The  bursting  passion  hath  o'ermastered  me, 
"  And  my  voice  chokes  in  anguish."    Oh,  my  liege, 
Your  giving  audience  to  this  rancorous  man, 
Who  envies  me  the  greatness  of  your  smile, 
Hath  done  me  wrong,  and  stabs  me  through  and  through 
A  traitor  ! — your  Ludovico  1 
King.    My  lord — 


Scene  L] 


EVADNE. 


13 


Lud.   (Kneels)   Here  is  my  heart  !    If  you  have  any 

mercy, 

Strike  through  that  heart,  and  as  the  blood  flows  forth, 
Drown  your  suspicions  in  the  purple  stream. 

King.    Arise,  Ludovico,  and  do  not  think 
I  have  harboured  in  my  breast  a  single  thought 
That  could  dishonor  thee.  [liaises  and  embraces  him. 

Lud.    My  royal  master  ! 
The  power  and  gratitude  mounts  from  my  heart 
And  rushes  to  mine  eyes,  that  are  too  apt 
To  play  the  woman  with  me.    See,  they  are  falling — 
Oh  !  let  them  not  profane  your  sacred  cheek, 
But  bathe  my  prince's  feet. 

King.  Ludovico, 
"We  have  wronged  thee,  not  by  doubt, 
But  by  our  sufferance  of  Colonna's  daring — 
Whom  from  my  sight  into  the  dungeon's  depth 
I  had  flung,  but  that  I  hope — Let  us  apart — 

[D  rates  Ludovico  aside  in  front,  l. 
But  that  I  hope,  Ludovico,  that  yet 
I  may  possess  me  of  his  sister's  charms. 

Lud.    There  you  have  struck  upon  the  inmost  spring 
Of  all  Colonna's  hate  ;  for  in  obedience 
To  your  high  will,  I  humbly  made  myself 
Your  pleasure's  minister,  and  to  her  ear 
I  bore  your  proffered  love,  which,  he  discovering, 
Hath  tried  to  root  me  from  my  prince's  heart — 

King.  Where  thou  shalt  ever  flourish  !  But,  Ludovico, 
But  thou  hast  told  her  ! — Is  there  hope,  my  friend  ? 

Lud.    She  shall  be  yours — nay,  more — and  well  you 
know 

That  you  may  trust  your  servant — not  alone 
Colonna's  lovely  sister  shall  be  yours  : 
But,  mark  my  speech,  Colonna's  self  shall  draw 
The  chaste  white  curtains  from  her  virgin  bed, 
Aud  lead  you  to  her  arms  1 

King.    What  !  her  fierce  brother 
Yield  his  consent  ? 

Lud.    Inquire  not  how,  my  liege, 
I  would  accomplish  this — trust  to  my  pledge — 
This  very  night. 

King.    To-night  1    Am  I  so  near 


14  evadxe.  [Act  I. 

To  heaven,  Ludovico  ? 

Lud.    You  arc,  my  liege. 
( Aside.)  To-night  upon  the  breast  of  paradise 
You  shall  most  soundly  sleep. 

King.    My  faithful  friend  ! 
And  dost  thou  say,  Colonna  will  himself — ? 

Lud,    Colonna's  self  shall  bear  her  to  your  arms, 
And  bid  her  on  to  dalliance. 

King.    Oh,  my  friend, 
Thou  art  the  truest  servant  that  e'er  yet 
Tended  his  sovereign's  wish  :  but  does  not  fear. 
Her  purposed  marriage  with  Yicentio 
May  make  some  obstacle  ? 

Lud,    I  have  recalled  him 
From  Florence,  whither,  as  ambassador, 
In  honourable  exile  he  was  sent. 

King.    Recalled  him  !    'Twas  to  interrupt  his  love 
That  he  was  sent. 

Lud.    My  projects  need  his  coming. 
For  I  intend  to  make  Yicentio 
An  instrument  to  crown  you  with  her  charms  ! 

King.    How  shall  I  bless  thee,  my  Ludovico 
Dost  thou  think 

'Tis  strange  I  pine  for  her — but  why  inquire 
Of  thee,  who  once  wert  kindled  by  her  charms  ! 

Lud.    My  liege  !  [.A  little  disturbed. 

King.    She  did  prefer  Yicentio. 

Lud.    She  shall  prefer  you  to  Yicentio. 

King.    My  dear  Ludovico,  within  my  soul 
More  closely  will  I  wear  thee  ! 
Tell  her  we'll  shower  all  honour  on  her  head. 
And  here,  Ludovico,  to  testify 
That  we  have  given  ourselves,   ear  to  her  heart 
This  image  of  her  king  1 

Lud.    I  am  in  all  your  servant. 

King.    My  Ludovico, 
We  never  can  reward  thee  !    Come,  my  friends, 

[Crosses,  b. 

Let's  to  some  fresh  imagined  sport,  and  wile 

The  languid  hours  in  some  device  of  joy, 

To  help  along  the  lazy  flight  of  time, 

And  quicken  him  with  pleasure.    My  Ludovico  ! 


Scene  I.J 


EVANDE. 


15 


Remember  !  [Flourish — Exeunt  King  and  ten  of  t/ie 
Courtiers,  r. — Banners  and  Guards,  R.  u.  e. — 
Spalatro  and  four  other  Conspirators  remain  be- 
hind wuh  Ludovico. 
Lud.    He  is  gone, 
And  my  unloosened  spirit  dares  again 
To  heave  within  my  bosom  ! — Oh,  Colonna, 
With  an  usurous  vengeance  I'll  repay  thee, 
And  cure  the  talking  devil  in  thy  tongue. 
(To  Spalatro.) — Give  me  thy  hand,  and  let  thy  pulse  again 
Beat  with  a  temperate  and  healthful  motion, 
Of  full  security.    We  are  safe,  my  friends, 
And  in  the  genius  of  Ludovico, 
An  enterprise  shall  triumph. 

Spat.    We  began  to  tremble  when  you  entered — but  full 
soon 

With  admiration  we  beheld  you  tread 
Secure  the  steeps  of  ruin,  and  preserve  us.fc 

Lud,    That  dammed  Colonna  ! — by  the  glorious  star 
Of  my  nativity,  I  do  not  burn 
For  empire  with  a  more  infuriate  thirst, 
Than  for  revenge  ! 

Spal,    My  poniard's  at  your  service. 

[First  and  Second  Conspirators  half  draw  their  daggers. 

Lud.    Not  for  the  world,  my  friends  ! 
1 11  turn  my  vengeance  to  utility, 
And  must  economize  my  hate — Whom  think  you 
Have  I  marked  out  assassin  of  the  King? 

Spal.    Piero,  perchance — he  strikes  the  poniard  deep. 

Lud.    A  better  hand  at  it. 

Spal.    Bortolo,  then — 
He  pushes  the  stiletto  to  the  heart. 

Lud.    No  ! 

Spal.    Then  yourself  will  undertake  the  deed. 

Lud.    That  were  against  all  wisdom — No,  my  friends, 
Colonna — 

Spal,    What,  Colonna  ? — he  that  now 
Accused  you  here  ? 

Lud.    Colonna  ! — 

Spal,    'Tis  impossible  ! — 
From  his  great  father  he  inherited 
A  sort  of  passion  in  his  loyalty  : 


16 


EVADNE. 


[Act  I, 


In  him  it  mounts  to  folly. 

Lud.    Yet,  Spalatro, 
I'll  make  a  murderer  of  him. 

Your  leave  awile,  my  friends' — [Exeunt  Conspirators, 

Know  you  not, 
He  has  a  sister  ? 

Spal.    Yes,  the  fair  Evande, 
Y'ou  once  did  love  yourself. 

Lud.  There  thou  hast  touched  me. 
And  I  am  weak  enough  to  love  her  yet, 
If  that  indeed  be  love  that  doth  consume  me  : 
It  is  a  sort  of  monster  in  my  heart, 
Made  of  horrid  contrarities  1 
She  scorns  me  for  that  smooth  Yicentio — 
Not  only  does  he  thwart  me  in  my  love, 
But,  well  I  know  his  influence  in  the  state 
Would,  when  the  King  is  sent  to  paradise, 
Be  cast  between  me  and  the  throne — he  dies  I— 
Colonna  too  shall  perish  and  the  crown 
Shall  with  Evande's  love  be  mine. 

Enter  Page,  l. 

How  now  ? 

Page.    My  lord,  the  Lady  Olivia 
Waits  on  your  highness. 

Lud.    I  desired  her  here, 
And  straight  I  will  attend  her.  [Exit  Page,  u 

With  a  straw 

A  town  may  be  consumed,  and  I  employ 
This  woman's  passion  for  Yicentio, 
As  I  would  use  a  poisoned  pin,  to  kill. 

Spal.    She  long  hath  loved  Yicentio. 

Lud.    He  shall  wed  her — 
And  from  the  hand  of  Hymen,  death  shall  snatch 
the  nuptial  torch,  and  use  it  for  his  own  1 
I  haste  me  to  her  presence. 
(  Takes  out  the  King's  picture.)  Come,  fair  bauble. 
Thou  now  must  be  employed. — ( To  Spal.)  Dost  thou  not 
think, 

Even  in  this  image,  that  he  bears  the  soft 
And  wanton  aspect  with  the  which  he  bid  me. 
To  cater  for  his  villanous  appetite — 


Scene  I.] 


EVANDE. 


And  with  what  luxury  ? — Evandc's  charms  ! 
Evande  that  I  love  ! 

Spal.    But  didst  thou  not. 
Thyself  evoke  that  passion  in  his  breast? 

Lud.    I  did,*'tis  true — but  for  mine  own  success. 
I  hate  him  ! 

There  is  the  very  face  with  which  he  first 

Poured  his  unholy  wishes  in  mine  ear — 

Ila  !  dost  thou  smile  upon  me  ? — I  will  turn 

Those  glittering-  eyes,  where  love  doth  now  inhabit, 

To  two  dark,  hollow  palaces,  for  death 

To  keep  his  mouldering  state  in. 

He  dares  to  hope  that  I  will  make  myself 

The  wretched  officer  of  his  desires, 

And  smooth  the  bed  for  his  lascivious  pleasures — 

But  I  full  soon  will  teach  his  royalty, 

The  beds  I  make  are  lasting  ones,  and  lie 

In  the  dark  chamber  of  eternity  !  Exeunt,  l. 

END  OF  ACT  I. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — A  room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Olivia  and,  Ludovico,  r. 

Lud.    Dispose  of  it  as  I  instructed  you  ; 

[  Giving  her  the  King's  picture. 
You  know  that  I  have  pledged  myself  to  make 
Vicentio  yours.    To-day  yourself  have  given 
The  means  to  turn  that  promise  into  deed. 

Oliv.    My  own  heart 
Tells  me,  'tis  a  bad  office  I  have  ta'en  ; 
But  this  unhappy  passion  drives  me  on, 
And  makes  my  soul  your  thrall. — Thus  I  have  crept, 
Obedient  to  your  counsels,  meanly  crept. 
Into  Evande's  soft  and  trusting  heart, 
And  coiled  myself  around  her — Thus,  my  lord, 
Have  1  obtained  the  page  of  amorous  sighs. 
That  you  enjoy ned  me  to  secure — I  own. 


IS 


EVANDE. 


[Act  II. 


Twas  a  false  deed,  but  I  am  gone  too  far 
To  seek  retreat,  and  will  obey  you  still. 

Lad.    And  I  will  crown  your  passion  with  the  flowers 
Of  Hymen's  yellow  garland — Trust  me,  Olivia," 
That  once  dissevered  from  Evande's  love, 
He'll  soon  be  taught  to  prize  your  nobler  frame, 
And  more  enkindled  beauty — Well,  'tis  known, 
Ere  he  beheld  the  sorceress, 
He  deemed  you  fairest  of  created  tilings, 
And  would  have  proffered  love,  had  not — 

Otic.    I  pray  you. 
With  gems  of  flattery  do  not  disturb 
The  fount  of  bitterness  within  my  soul  ■ 
For  dropped  though  ne'er  so  lightly,  they  but  stir 
The  poisoned  waters  as  they  fall. — I  have  said. 
I  will  obey  you. 

Lud.    With  this  innocent  page, 
Will  I  light  up  the  fire  within  Vicentio, — 
But  you  must  keep  it  flaming  : — I  have  ta'en 
Apt  means  to  drive  him  into  jealousy, 
By  scattering  rumours  (which  have  reached  his  ear) 
Before  he  came  to  Naples, — e'en  in  Florence 
Have  I  prepared  his  soft  and  yielding  mind 
To  take  the  seal  that  I  would  fix  upon  it. 
I  do  expect  him  with  the  fleeting  hour, — 
For  all  my  presence  he  must  come  to  bear 
His  embassy's  commission,  and  be  sure 
He  leaves  me  with  a  poison  in  his  heart, 
Evadne's  lips  shall  never  suck  away. 

Oliv.    Then  will  I  hence,  and,  if  'tis  possible, 
Your  bidding  shall  be  done. — Vincentio  1 
Enter  Vicentio,  r. 

Vic.    Hail  to  my  lord  ! 

Lud.    Welcome,  Vicentio  ! 
I  have  not  clasped  your  hand  this  many  a  day  ! 
Welcome  from  Florence.    In  your  absence,  sir, 
Time  seemed  to  have  lost  his  feathers. 

Vic.    It  was  kind 
To  waste  a  thought  upon  me. — Fair  Olivia, 
Florence  hath  dimmed  mine  eyes,  or  I  must  else 
Have  seen  a  sunbeam  sooner. — (  Crosses,  c.) — Fair  Olivia, 


Scene  I.] 


EVANDE. 


How  docs  vour  lovely  friend  ? 

Oliv.    What  friend,  my  lord  ? 

Vic.    I  trust  naught  evil  hath  befallen  Evande, 
That  you  should  fain  to  understand  me  not. 
How  does  my  beautiful  and  plighted  love  ? 

Oliv.  How  does  she,  sir  ?  I  pray  you,  my  good  lord, 
To  ask  such  tender  question  of  the  King.  lExit, 

Vic.  ( Aside.)  What  meant  she  by  the  King  ? 

Lud.    You  seem,  Vicentio, 
O'ershadowed  with  reflection — should  you 
Not  have  used  some  soft  detaining  phrase  to  one, 
Who  should  at  least  be  pitied  ? 

Vic.    I  came  here 
To  re-deliver  to  your  hands,  my  lord, 
The  high  commission  of  mine  embassy, 
That  long  delayed  my  marriage.    You,  I  deem. 
My  creditor,  in  having  used  your  sway 
In  my  recall  to  Naples. 

Lud.    In  return  for  such  small  service, 
I  hope 

That  you  will  not  forget  Ludovico, 
When  in  the  troop  of  thronging  worshippers, 
At  distance  you  behold  his  stooping  plume 
Bend  in  humility. 

Vic.    What  means  my  lord  ? 

Lud.    Act  not  this  ignorance — your  glorious  fortune 
Hath  filled  the  common  mouth — 
Your  image  stands  already  in  the  mart 
Of  pictured  ridicule. — Come,  do  not  wear 
The  look  of  studied  wonderment — you  know 
Howe'r  I  stand  upon  the  highest  place 
In  the  King's  favour,  that  you  will  soon 
Supplant  the  poor  Ludovico.  • 

Vic.    I  am  no  QEdipus, 

Lud.    You  would  have  me  speak  in  simpler  phrase  ; 
Vicentio, 

You  are  to  be  the  favorite  of  the  king. 

Vic.    The  favourite  of  the  king  1 

Lud.    Certcs,  Vicentio. 
In  our  Italian  courts,  the  generous  husband 
Receives  his  monarch's  recompensing  smile, 
That  with  alchymic  power  can  turn  the  mas3. 


20 


EVADNE. 


[Act  II. 


Of  dull,  opprobrious  shame,  to  one  bright  heap 
Of  honour  and  emolument. 
I  bid  you  joy,  my  lord — why,  how  is  this  ? 
Do  you  not  conceive  me  ?    Know  yon  not, 
You  are  to  wed  the  mistress  of  the  King  ? 
Colonna's  sister — ay,  I  have  said  it,  sir, — - 
Now  do  you  understand  me  ? 

Vic.    Villain,  thou  liest  ! 

Lud.    What  ?  are  you  to  marry  her  ? 

Vic.    Thou  liest  ! 
Though  thou  wert  ten  times  what  thou  art  already, 
Not  all  the  laurels  heaped  upon  thy  head 
Should  save  thee  from  the  lightnings  of  my  wrath  ! 

Lud.    If  it  were  my  will, 
The  movement  of  my  hand  should  beckon  death 
To  thy  presumption.    But  I  have  proved  too  oft 
I  bore  a  fearless  heart,  to  think  you  dare 
To  call  me  coward — and  I  am  too  wise 
To  think  I  can  revenge  an  injury 
By  giving  you  my  life.    But  I  compassionate, 
Nay,  I  have  learned  to  esteem  thee  for  a  wrath, 
That  speaks  thy  noble  nature. 

Fare  thee  well !  [Crosses,  l. 

Thy  pulse  is  now  too  fevered  for  the  cure 

I  honestly  intended — yet,  before 

I  part,  here  take  this  satisfying  proof 

Of  what  a  woman's  made  of.  [Gives  him  a  letter. 

Vic.    It  is  his  character  ! 
Hast  thou  shed  phosphor  on  the  innocent  page, 
That  it  has  turned  to  fire  ? 

Lud.    Though  hast  thy  fate. 

Vic.    'Tis  signed,  "Evadne  !'; 

Lud.    Yes,  it  is — farewell ! 

Vic.    For  Heaven's  sake,  hear  me, — Stay. — Oh,  pardon 
me 

For  the  rash  utterance  of  a  frantic  man — . 
Speak  !  in  mercy  speak  ! 

Lud.    I  will 
In  mercy  speak,  indeed. — In  mercy  to 
That  fervid  generosity  of  heart 
That  I  beheld  within  thee. 

Vic.    From  whom  is  this  ? 


Scene  I.] 


EVADNE. 


21 


Lud.    From  whom  ?  look  there  ! 
Vic.    Evadne  ! 

Lud.    'Tis  written  to  the  King  and  to  my  hand, 
For  he  is  proud  of  it,  as  if  it  were 
A  banner  of  high  victory,  he  bore  it, 
To  evidence  of  his  valour. — It  is  grown 
His  cup-theme  now,  and  your  Evadne's  name 
Is  lisped  with  all  the  insolence  on  his  tongue 
Of  satiated  triumph — he  exclaims — 
The  poor  Vicentio  ! 

Vic.    The  poor  Vicentio  ! 

Lud.  (  Aside.)  What  1  shall  he  murder  him  ? — no,  no — . 
Colonna  ! 

The  poor  Vicentio  ! — and  he  oftentimes 
Cries,  that  he  pities  you  I 
Vic.    He  pities  me  ! 

Lvd.    I  own  that  sometimes  I  was  infidel 
To  all  the  bombast  vaunting  of  the  King, 
But— 

Vic    Tis  Evadne  !— ^1  have  gazed  upon  it, 
In  hope  that  with  the  glaring  of  mine  eyes, 
I  might  burn  out  the  false  and  treacherous  word — 
But  still  'tis  there — no  more — else  will  it  turn 
My  brain  to  a  red  furnace. — Look  you,  my  lord — 
Thus  I  rend  the  cursed  evidence 
Of  that  vile  woman's  falsehood — thus  I  cast 
My  love  into  the  winds,  and  as  I  tread 
Upon  the  poisoned  fragments  of  the  snake 
That  stings  me  into  madness,  thus,  Ludovico, 
Thus  do  I  trample  on  her  !  [Crosses  l. 

Lied,    nave  you  ne'er  heard, — 
For  'twas  so  widely  scattered  in  the  voice 
Of  common  rumour,  that  the  very  wind, 
If  it  blew  fair  for  Florence — 

Vic.    I  have  heard 
Some  whispers,  which  I  long  had  flung  away 
With  an  incredulous  hatred  from  my  heart — 
But  now  this  testimony  has  conjured 
All  other  circumstances  in  one  vast  heap 
Of  damned  certainty  ! — Farewell,  my  lord —      [Crosses,  r 

Lud.    Hear  me,  Vincentio. 
Vengeance  is  left  you  still — the  deadliest,  too, 


22 


EVADXE. 


[Act  II. 


That  a  false  woman  can  be  made  to  feel  : 
Take  her  example — be  not  satisfied 
With  casting  her  forever  from  your  heart, 
But  to  the  place  that  she  lias  forfeited, 
Exalt  a  lovelier  than — but  1  perceive 
You  are  not  in  a  mood  to  hear  me  now — 
Some  other  time,  Vicentio — and,  meanwhile, 
Despite  your  first  tempestous  suddenness, 
You  will  think  that  I  but  meant  your  honour  will 
In  this  proceeding. 

Vic.    I  believe  I  owe  you 
That  sort  of  desperate  gratitude,  my  lord, 
The  dying  patient  owes  the  barbarous  knife, 
That  delves  in  throes  of  mortal  agony, 
And  tears  the  rooted  cancer  from  his  heart  !      lExeunt,  u 

Scexe  II. — A  Room  in  Colonna's  Palace. 

Enter  Evadxe,  m.  d.,  looking  at  a  picture. 

Eva.    'Tis  strange  he  comes  not  !  through  the  city's  gates 
His  panting  courser  passed  before  the  sun 
Had  climbed  to  his  meridian,  yet  he  comes  not  ! — 
Ah  !  Yicentio, 

To  know  thee  near  me,  yet  behold  thee  not, 

Is  sadder  than  to  think  thee  far  away  ; 

For  I  had  rather  that  a  thousand  leagues 

Of  mountain  ocean  should  dissever  us, 

Than  thine  own  heart,  Yicentio. — Sure,Yicentio, 

If  thou  didst  know  what  a  pining  gaze 

I  feed  mine  eyes  upon  thy  image  here, 

Thou  wouldst  not  now  leave  thine  Evadne's  love 

To  this  same  cold  idolatry. 

Enter  Olivia,  unperccived,  l.  u.  e.,  down  on  n.,  and  touches 
Evadne  on  the  shoulder. 

I  will  swear. 

That  smile's  a  false  one,  for  it  sweetly  tells 
No  tarrying  indifference. — Olivia  ! 

Oiiv.    I  have  stolen  unperceived  upon  your  hours 
Of  lonely  meditation,  and  surprised 
Your  soft  soliloquies  to  that  fair  face, — 
Nay,  do  not  blush — reserve  that  rosy  dawn 


Scene  II.]  evadne.  23 

For  tlic  soft  pressure  of  Yicentjo's  lips. 

Eva.    You  mock  me,  fair  Olivia, — I  confess, 
That  musing  on  my  cold  Yicentio's  absence, 
I  quarrelled  with  the  blameless  ivory 

OHv.    He  was  compelled,  as  soon  as  he  arrived, 
To  wait  upon  the  great  Ludovico  ; 
Meanwhile,  your  soft,  expecting  moments,  flow 
In  tender  meditation  on  the  face, 
You  dare  to  gaze  upon  in  ivory 
With  fonder  aspect,  than  when  you  behold 
Its  bright  original  ;  for  then  ?tis  meet 
Your  pensive  brows  be  bent  upon  the  groun 
And  sighs  as  soft  as  zephyrs  on  the  wave, 
Should  gently  heave  your  heart. — Is  it  not  so  ? 
Nay,  do  not  now  rehearse  your  heart,  I  pray  ; — 
Reserve  those  downcast  lookings  for  Yicentio  ; 
That's  a  fair  picture — let  me,  if  you  dare 
Entrust  the  treasure  to  another's  hand, 
Let  me  look  on  it,  [Takes  yicentio's  picture. 

What  a  sweetness  plays 

On  those  half  opened  lips  ! — He  gazed  on  you, 
When  those  bright  eyes  were  painted. 

Eva.    You  have  got 
A  heart  so  free  of  care,  that  you  can  mock 
Your  pensive  friend  wit  such  light  merriment. 
But  hark  !  I  hear  a  step. 

Oliv.    Xow  fortune  aid  me 
In  her  precipitation. 

Eva.    It  is  himself! — 
Olivia,  he  is  coming. — Well  know 
My  Lord  Yicentio  hastens  to  my  eyes  ! 
The  picture — pr'ythee,  give  it  back  to  me— 
I  must  constrain  you  to  it. 

Oliv.  [Who  has  substituted  the  picture  of  the  King.']  t  lis 
in  vain 

To  struggle  with  you,  then — with  what  a  grasp 
You  rend  it  from  my  hand,  as  if  it  were 
Yicentio  that  I  had  stolen  away. 

[Gives  her  the  King1  s  picture,  which  Evadne  places  in 
her  bosom. 

{Aside.)  I  triumph  ! — He  is  coming — I  must  leave  you, 
Nor  interrupt  the  meeting  of  your  hearts 


•24 


EVADNE. 


[Act  IT. 


By  my  officious  presence  !  [Exit,  l. 

Eva    It  is  himself  ! 
Swiftly  he  passes  through  the  colonnade  ! 
Oh  !  Yicentio, 

Thy  coming  bears  me  joy  as  bright  as  e'er 

Beat  through  the  heart  of  woman,  that  was  made 

For  suffering,  and  for  transport  ! — Oh,  Yicentio  ! 

Enter  Yicentio,  l. 

Are  you,  then,  come  at  last  ? — do  I  once  more 
Behold  my  bosom's  lord,  whose  tender  sight 
Is  necessary  for  my  happiness 
As  light  for  heaven  ! — My  lord  ! — Yicentio  I — 
I  blush  to  speak  the  transport  in  my  heart, 
But  I  am  rapt  to  see  you. 

Vic.  ( Aside.)  Dissembling  woman  I 

Eva.    How  is  this,  my  lord  ? 
You  look  altered. 

Vic.    But  you  do  not  look  altered — would  you  did  ! 
Let  me  peruse  the  face  where  loveliness 
Stays,  like  the  light,  after  the  sun  is  set. 
Sphered  in  the  stillness  of  those  heavenly-blue  eyes, 
The  soul  sits  beau;iful  ;  "  the  high  white  front, 
"  Smooth  as  the  brow  of  Pallas,  seems  a  tempie 
"  Sacred  to  holy  thinking  !"  and  those  lips 
Wear  the  sweet  smile  of  sleeping  infancy 
They  are  so  innocent. — Oh  !  Evadne, 
Thou  art  not  altered — would  thou  wert  1 

Eva.  Yicentio, 
This  strangeness  I  scarce  hoped  for. — Say,  Yicentio, 
Has  any  ill  befallen  yon  ? — I  perceive 
That  it's  warm  blood  hath  parted  from  your  cheek 
Ah  me  !  you  are  not  well,  Yicentio. 

Vic.    In  sooth,  I  am  not. — There  is  in  my  breast 
A  wound  that  mocks  all  cure — no  salve,  nor  anodyne, 
Nor  medicinal  herb,  can  e'er  allay 
The  festering  of  that  agonizing  wound 
You  have  driven  into  my  heart  1 

Eva.    I  ? 

Vic.    Why,  Evadne, 
Why  did  you  ever  tell  me  that  you  loved  me  ? 
Why  was  not  I  in  mercy  spurned  away, 


Scene  II.] 


EVADNE. 


25 


Scorned,  like  Ludovico  ?  for  unto  him 

You  dealt  in  honour,  and  despised  his  love  : 

But  me  you  soothed  and  flattered — sighed  and  Wushcd- 

And  smiled  and  wept,  for  you  can  weep  ;  ("even  now 

Your  tears  flow  by  volition,  and  your  eyes, 

Convenient  fountains,  have  begun  to  gush  J 

To  stab  me  with  a  falsehood  yet  unknown 

lu  falsest  woman's  perfidy  !  '  [Turns  from  her, 

Eva.  Vicentio, 
Why  am  I  thus  accused  ?    What  have  I  done  ? 

Vic.    What ! — are  you  grown  already  an  adept 
In  cold  dissimulation  ?    Have  you  stopped 
All  access  from  your  heart  into  your  face  ? 
Bo  you  not  blush  ? 

Eva.    I  do,  indeed,  for  you  1 

Vic.    The  King  ! 

Eva.    The  King  ? 

Vic.    Come,  come,  confess  at  once,  and  wear  it  high 
Upon  your  towering  forehead — swell  your  port — 
Away  with  this  unseemly  bashfulness, 
That  will  be  deemed  a  savageness  at  court — 
Confront  the  talking  of  the  busy  world — 
Tell  them  you  are  the  mistress  of  the  King, 
Tell  them  you  are  Colonna's  sister,  too  ; 
But  hark  you,  madam, — prithee,  do  not  say 
You  are  Vicentio's  wife  1  [Taking  Stage,  L. 

Eva.    Injurious  mau  ! 

Vic.    The  very  winds  from  the  four  parts  of  heaven 
Blew  it  through  the  city — - 

Eva.    And  if  angels 
Cried,  trumpet-tongued,  that  I  was  false  to  you, 
You  should  not  have  believed  it. — You  forget, 
Who  dares  to  stain  a  woman's  honesty. 
Does  her  a  wrong,  as  deadly  as  the  brand 
He  fears  upon  himself. — Go,  go,  Yicentio — 
You  are  not  what  I  deemed  you  ! — Mistress  ? — fie  I 
Let  me  not  behold 

The  man  who  has  reviled  me  with  a  thought 
Dishonouring  as  that  one  ! — for  shame  ! — for  shame  1 
Oh  !  Yicentio, 
Do  I  deserve  this  of  you  ? 

Vic.    If  I  had  wronged  her  ! — 


26  evadne.  [Act  II. 

Eva.    I  will  not  descend 
To  vindicate  myself — dare  to  suspect  me  ! — 
My  lord,  I  am  to  guess  that  you  came  here, 
To  speak  your  soul's  revolt,  and  to  demand  - 
Your  plighted  vows  again, — If  for  this 
You  tarry  here,  I  freely  give  you  back 
Your  late  repented  faith — Farewell  forever  I 

[As  she  ts  going,  r. 

Vic.    Evadne  ! 

Eva.    Well,  my  lord  ?— 

Vic.    Evadne,  stay  ! — 

Eva.    Yicentio  ! 

[  With  a  look  of  reproaching  remonstrance. 

Vic.    Let  me  look  in  thy  face — 
Oh,  'tis  impossible  ! — I  was  bemocked, 
And  cheated  by  that  villain  ! — nothing  false 
Sure  ever  looked  like  thee  ;  and  yet  wilt  thou 
But  swear — 

Eva.    What  should  I  swear  ? — 

Vic.    That  you  did  not 
Betray  me  to  the  King. 

Eva.    Never  ! — 

Vic.    Nor  e'er 
Didst  write  in  love  to  him  ? 

Eva.    Oh,  never,  never  ! — I  perceive,  Yicentic, 
Some  villain  hath  abused  thy  credulous  ear — 
But  no  ! — I  will  not  now  inquire  it  of  thee — 
When  I  am  calmer — I  must  hence  betimes, 
To  chase  these  blots  of  sorrow  from  my  face,— - 
For  if  Colonna  should  behold  me  weep, 
So  tenderly  he  loves  me,  that  I  fear 
His  hot  tempestuous  nature— Why,  Yicentio, 
Do  you  still  wrong  me  with  a  wildered  eye, 
That  sheds  suspicion? 

Vic.  ( Aside.)  I  now  remember 
Another  circumstance,  Ludovico 
Did  tell  me  as  I  came — I  do  not  see 
My  picture  on  her  bosom. 

Eva.    Well,  Yicentio  ? 

Vic.    When  I  departed  hence,  about  your  neck 
I  hung  my  pictured  likeness,  wrhich  mine  eyes, 
Made  keen  by  jealous  vigilance,  perchance 


Scene  II.] 


EYADNE. 


27 


Desire  upon  your  breast. 

Eva.    And  is  that  all  ? 
And  in  such  fond  and  petty  circumstance, 
Seek  your  suspicion's  nourishment  ? — Yicentio, 
I  must  disclose  my  weakness — here,  Yicentio, 
I  have  pillowed  your  dear  image  on  a  heart 
You  should  not  have  distrusted. 

ID  raws  the  King's  Picture  from  her  bosom. 

Here  it  is — 

And  now,  my  lord,  suspect  me  if  you  can. 

Vk  ( Starting.)  A  horrid  phantom,  more  accursed  than 
e'er 

Yet  crossed  the  sleep  of  frenzy,  stares  upon  me — 
Speak — speak  at  once — 
Or — let  it  blast  thee  too. 

Eva.    Sure  some  dark  spell, 
Some  fearful  witchery — I  am  struck  to  ashes, — 
Amazement,  like  the  lightning — give  it  me, 
And  I  will  fix  it  in  my  very  eyes,  . 
Clasp  it  against  my  sight — ;Tis  not  Yicentio  I— m 

Vic.    It  is  the  King  ! 

Eva.    Oh  !  do  not  yield  it  faith, — 
Give  not  thy  senses  credence  ?    Oh,  Yicentio, 
I  am  confounded,  maddened,  lost,  Yicentio  1 
Some  demon  paints  it  on  the  coloured  air — « 
'Tis  not  reality  that  stares  upon  me  ! — 
Oh  !  hide  it  from  my  sight  ! — 

Vic.    Chance  has  betrayed  thee, 
And  saves  my  periled  honour — Here,  thou  all  fraud, 
Thou  mass  of  painted  perjury.— thou  woman  ! — 
And  now  I  have  done  with  thee,  and  pray  to  heaven 
I  ne'er  may  see  thee  more.  {Going,  l.)  But,  hold  ! — I  must 
Recall  that  wish  again — The  time  will  come 
When  I  would  look  on  thee — then,  Evadne,  then, 
When  the  world's  scorn  is  on  thee,  let  me  see 
Tliee,  old  in  youth,  and  bending  'neath  the  load 
Of  sorrow,  not  of  time — then  let  me  see  thee, 
And  mayest  thou,  as  I  pass,  lift  up  thy  head 
But  once  from  the  sad  earth,  and  then,  Eavdne, 
Look  down  again  forever  !  [Exit,  r, 


Enter  Colons  a,  m.  d.,  in  time  to  see  VicetUiogo  off. — Evad- 


28  evadne.  [Act  II. 

ne,  at  first  not  perceiving  that  Jie  is  gone,  and  recovering  from 

her  stupefaction. 

Eva.    I  will  swear — 
Give  it  back  to  me — Oh  !  I  am  innocent  ! 

[Rushes  up  to  Colonna,  who  advances,  r.,  mistaking  Mm 
for  a  moment  for  Vicenlio. 
By  heaven,  I  am  innocent ! 

Col.    Who  dares  to  doabt  it, — 
Who  knows  thee  of  that  noble  family, 
That  cowardice  in  man,  or  wantonness 
In  woman,  ever  tarnished  ? 

Eva.  ( Aside.)  He  is  gone  ! — 

Col.    But  how  is  this,  Evadne  ?    In  your  face 
I  read  a  wiidered  air  has  ta'en  the  place 
Of  that  placidity,  that  used  to  shine 
Forever  on  thy  holy  countenance. 

Eva.    Now,  as  I  value  my  Vicentio's  life — 

Col.    One  of  love's  summer  clouds,  I  doubt  me,  sister, 
Hath  floated  o'er  you,  though  'twere  better  far 
That  it  had  left  no  rain  drops. — What  has  happened  ? 

Eva,    There's  nothing  has  befallen,  only — 

Col.    What,  only  ? 

Eva    I  pray  you  pardon  me — I  must  begone  I 

Col.    Evadne,  stay  !  let  me  behold  you  well — 
Why  do  you  stand  at  distance  ?  nearer  still, — 
Evadne  ! — 

Eva.    Well  ? 

Col.    Yicentio — 

Eva.  {Assuming  an  affected  hgntnessof  manner.) 
Why,  Colonna — 

Think  you  that  I'm  without  my  sex's  arts, 
And  did  not  practice  all  the  torturings 
That  make  a  woman's  triumph  ? 

Col.    'Twas  not  well. 
I  hoped  thee  raised  above  all  artifice 
That  makes  thy  sex  but  infancy  matured. 
I  was  at  first  inclined  to  follow  him, 
And  ask  what  this  might  mean  ? 

Eva.    Then  he  hath  told 
That  I  had  played  the  t}Tant. — Had  you  seen 
How  like  my  peevish  lap-dog  he  appeared, 


Scene  I,] 


EVADNE. 


29 


Just  beaten  with  a  fan. — Ha  !  ha  I  Colonna, 

You  wiUfind  us  all  alike. — Ha  !  ha  1  my  heart 

Will  break.  [Bursts  into  tears. 

Col.    Farewell ! 

Eva,    What  would  you  do? 

Col.    Let  all  the  world  ■ 
Hold  me  a  slave,  and  hoard  upon  my  head 
Its  gathered  infamy — be  all  who  bear 
Colonna's  name  scorn-blighted — may  disgrace 
Gnaw  off  all  honour  from  my  family, 
If  I  permit  an  injury  to  thee 

To  'scape  Colonna's  vengeance  I  • 

Eva.    Hold,  my  brother  1 
I  will  not  leave  thy  sight  I 

Col.    Then  follow  me  i 
And  if  thou  art  abandoned,  after  all 
Yicentio's  plighted  faith,  thou  shalt  behold — 
By  heavens,  an  emperor  should  not  do  thee  wrong, 
Or,  if  he  did,  though  I'd  a  thousand  lives, 
I  had  given  them  all  to  avenge  thee. — I'll  inquire 
Into  this  business  ;  and  if  I  find 
Thou  hast  lost  a  lover,  I  will  give  him  proof, 
I've  my  right  arm,  and  thou  thy  brother  still.      [Exeunt,  r. 

END  OF  ACT  II. 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — A  Street  in  Naples. — The  Front  of  Olivia's 
House,  R.  D.  F. 

Enter  Ludovico  and  Yicentio,  l. 

Lud.    There  is  Olivia's  house  I 

Vic.    Thou  hast  resolved  me. 

I  thank  thee-  for  thy  counsel,  and  at  once  [Crosses,  r 

Speed  to  its  dread  performance.  [Raps,  r.  d.  f. 

Enter  a  Servant,  r.  d.  f. 

'Bides  the  lady  Olivia  in  her  home  ? 

Sen,    She  does,  my  lord.  [Exit,  r.  d.  f. 


so 


EVADNE. 


Vic.    Farewell,  Ludovico  !  thou  see'st,  my  friend, 
For  such  I  ever  hold  thee,  that  I  pass  ( 
The  stream  of  destiny.    Thou  sayest,  Ludovico, 
JTis  necessary  for  my  fame. 

Lud.    No  less — 
By  marrying  Olivia,  you  disperse 
The  noises  that  abroad  did  sully  you, 
Of  having  given  consent  to  play  the  cloak 
To  the  King's  dalliance. 

Vic.    Oh,  speak  of  it 
No  more,  Ludovico  !  Farewell,  my  friend, 
I  will  obey  your  counsels. —  [Exit  into  Olivia's  house. 

Lud.    Fare  you  well, 
My  passionate,  obsequious  instrument, 
Whom  now  I  scorn  so  much,  I  scarcely  let  thee 
Reach  to  the  dignity  of  being  hated. 

Enter  the  King,  l.,  disguised. 

King.    My  faithful  servant,  my  Ludovico  ! 

Lud.    My  prince  !  I  did  not  hope  to  meet  you  here  I 
What,  in  this  masqued  attire,  has  made  you  veil 
The  dazllling  brightness  of  your  royalty, 
And  led  you  from  your  palace  ? 

King.    I  have  ta'en 
Concealment's  wonted  habit  to  escape 
The  hundred  eyes  of  curiosity, 
And,  wearied  with  the  rotatory  course 
Of  dull  unchanging  pleasure,  sought  for  thee 
Shall  she  be  mine,  Ludovico  ? 

Lud.    My  liege, 
T  marvel  not  at  the  impatient  throb 
Of  restless  expectation  in  your  hearr. 
And  know,  my  liege,  that  not  in  vain  I  toil, 

vvaft  you  to  her  bosom,  for  Yicentio 
Renounces  her  forever  !  and  but  moved 
By  my  wise  counsels,  hath  already  prayed 
The  fair  Olivia's  hand. 

King.    How,  my  Ludovico, 
Didst  thou  accomplish  it  ? 

Lud.    I  turned  to  use 
The  passion  of  Olivia  ;  while  Evadne  traced 
A  letter  to  Yicentio,  suddenly 


Scene  I.j 


EVADNE. 


31 


The  news  of  his  expected  coming  reached 

Her  panting  breast,  and  in  the  rush  of  joy, 

Unfinished  on  her  table  did  she  leave 

The  page  of  amorous  wishes,  which  the  care 

Of  unperceived  Olivia  haply  seized, 

And  bore  unto  my  hand. — Vicentio's  name 

"Was  drowned  in  hurried  vocatives  of  love, 

As  thus — "  My  lord — life — my  soul," — the  which 

I  made  advantage  of,  and  did  persuade  him 

'Tvvas  written  to  your  highness, — and  with  lights 

Caught  from  the  very  torch  of  truest  love, 

I  fired  the  furies'  brands — 

King.    My  faithful  friend  ! 

Lud.    Then  with  your  picture  did  Olivia  work 
Suspicion  into  frenzv — when  he  came 
Prom  your  Evadne's  house,  I  threw  myself, 
As  if  by  fortune,  in  his  path  : — I  urged 
His  heated  passions  to  my  purposes, 
And  bade  him  ask  Olivia's  hand,  to  prove 
How  much  he  scorned  her  falsehood. — Even  now 
He  makes  his  suit,  for  there  Olivia  dwells, 
And  as  you  came,  he  entered. 

King.    But  wherein 
Will  this  promote  the  crowning  of  my  love  ? 

Lud.    I  said  that  Colonna's  self  should  be  the  first 
To  lead  you  to  her  arms — 

King.    Thou  didst,  Ludovico, 
The  which  performed,  I'll  give  thee  half  my  realm. 

Crosses,  r. 

Lud.    (Aside.)    You  shall  give  all  ! 

King.    Accomplish  this,  my  friend, 
Thou  art  my  great  Apollo  1 

Lud.    No,  my  liege, 
You  shall  be  Jove. 

And  taste  more  joys  than  the  Olympian  did, 
In  golden  showers  in  Danae's  yielding  heart. 

King.    Ludovico,  thou  art  as  dear  to  me 
As  the  rich  circle  of  my  royalty. 
Farewell,  Ludovico  ;  I  shall  expect 
Some  speedy  tidings  from  thee — fare  thee  well ! 
To-night,  Ludovico. 

Lud.    To-night,  you  perish  1 


32 


EVADNE. 


[Act  III. 


Colonna's  dagger  shall  let  out  your  blood, 
And  lance  your  wanton  and  high-swelling  veins.-— 
That  I  should  stoop  to  such  an  infamy  1 
Evadne  here  1 

Enter  Evadne,  l. 

Not  for  the  King,  but  for  myself  I  mean, 
A  feast  fit  for  the  gods  ! 

•  Eva.    (  With  some  agitation.)    My  Lord  Ludovico — ■ 

Lud.    The  beautiful  Evadne  I 
What  would  the  brightest  maid  of*  Italy 
Of  her  poor  servant  ? 

Eva.    Sir,  may  I  entreat 
Your  knowledge  where  the  Count  Vicentio 
'Bides  at  this  present  instant  ?    I  have  been  informed 
He  'companied  you  here. 

Lud.    It  grieves  me  sore 
He  hath  done  you  so  much  wrong. 

Eva.    What  may  you  mean  ? 

Lud.    'Tis  talked  of  in  the  whispering  gallery, 
Where  envy  holds  her  court  : 
Who  would  have  thought  Vicentio's  heart  was  like 
A  plaything  stuck  with  Cupid's  lightest  plumes, 
Thus  to  be  tossed  from  one  heart  to  another  i 
Or  rather,  who  had  thought  that  you  were  made 
For  such  abandonment  ? 

Eva.    I  scarce  can  guess — 

LauI.    I  did  not  mean  to  touch  so  nice  a  wound. 
If  you  desire  to  learn  where  now  he  bides, 
I  can  inform  you. 

Eva.    Where,  Ludovico  ? 

Lud.    Yonder,  Evadne,  in  Olivia's  house. 

Eva.    Olivia's  house  ?  what  would  he  there  ? 

Lud.    You  know 
Yicentio  and  Olivia  are  to-day — 

Eva.    My  lord  ? 

Lud.    Are  to  be  married — 

Eva.    Married,  my  lord  ? 
Yicentio  and  Olivia  to  be  married  ! 

Lud.    I  am  sorry  that  it  moves  you  thus — Evadne  : 
"  Had  I  been  used  as  that  ingrate,  be  sure 
"  I  ne'er  had  proved  like  him  " — I  would  not  thus 


Scene  I.] 


EVADNE. 


33 


Have  flung  thee  like  a  poppy  from  my  heart. 

A  drowsy,  sleep-provoking  flower  : — Evadue, 
I  had  not  thus  deserted  you  1 

Eva.  Viceptio, 
Olivia  and  Viccntio  to  be  married  ? 
I  heard  it — yes — I  am  sure  I  did — Yicentio  I 
Olivia  to  be  married  ! — and  Evadue, 
Whose  heart  was  made  of  adoration — 
Vicentio  in  her  house  ?  there — underneath 
That  woman's  roof — behind  the  door  that  looks 
To  shut  me  out  from  hope, — I  will  myself — 

[Advancing,  then  checking  herself. 
I  do  not  dare  to  do  it — but  he  could  not. — 
He  could  not  use  me  thus — he  could  not — Ha  ! 

Enter  Yicentio,  from  Olivia's  House,  r.  d.  f. 

Vic.    Evadue  here  ? 

Eva.    Would  I  had  besn  born  blind, 
Not  to  behold  the  fatal  evidence 
Of  my  abandonment  ! — Am  I  condemned 
Even  by  the  ocular  proof,  to  be  made  sure 
That  I'm  a  wretch  forever  ! 

Vic.    (Advances,  r.)  Does  she  come 
To  bate  me  with  reproaches  ?  or  does  she  dare 
To  think  that  she  can  angle  me  again 
To  the  vile  pool  wherein  she  meant  to  catch  me  ? 
I'll  pass  her  with  the  bitterness  of  scorn, 
Nor  seem  to  know  her  present  to  my  sight. 

[  Crosses,  l.,  and  passes  her, 
Now  I'm  at  least  revenged.  [Going,  l. 

Eva.    My  lord,  I  pray  you — 
My  lord,  I  dare  entreat — Yicentio — 

Vic.    Who  calls  upon  Yicentio  !    Was  it  you  ? 
What  would  you  with  him,  for  I  bear  the  name. 

Eva.    Sir,  I — 

Vic    Go  on. — ( Aside.)  I'll  taunt  her  to  the  quick 
Eva.    My  lord,  I— 

Vic.    I  pray  you,  speak — I  cannot  guess, 
By  such  wild  broken  phrase,  what  you  would  have 
Of  one  who  knows  you  not. 

Eva    Not  know  me  ? 

Vic    No — 


[Exit,  r. 


EVADNE. 


[Act  II. 


Let  me  look  in  your  face — there  is  indeed 
Some  faint  resemblance  to  a  countenance 
Once  much  familiar  to  Vicentio's  eyes, 
But  'tis  a  shadowy  ; — she  that  I  speak  of 
,Was  full  of  virtues,  as  the  milky  way 
Upon  a  frozen  night  is  thick  with  stars. 
She  was  as  pure  as  untasted  fountain, 
Fresh  as  an  April  blossom,  kind  as  love, 
And  good  as  infants  giving  charity  ! 
Such  was  Evadne  : — fare  you  well  ? 

Eva.    My  lord, 
Is't  true  what  I  have  heard  ? — 

Vic.    What,  have  you  heard  ? 

Eca.    Speak — are  you  to  be  married — let  me  hear  it — 
Thank  heav'n  I've  strength  to  hear  it. 

Vic.    I  scarce  guess 
What  interest  you  find  in  one  that  deems 
Himself  a  stranger  to  you. 

Eva.  Sir— 

Vic.    But  if 
You  are  indeed  solicitous  to  learn 
Aught  that  imports  me,  learn  that  I  to-day 
Have  asked  the  fair  Olivia's  hand,  in  place  of  one — 

Eva.    You  have  bedewed  with  tears,  and  that  henceforth 
Will  fear  no  lack  of  tears,  though  they  may  fall 
From  other  eyes  than  yours. — So,  then,  Yicentio, 
Fame  did  not  wrong  you. — You  are  to  be  married  ? 

Vic    To  one  within  whose  heart  as  pure  a  fire 
As  in  the  shrine  of  Yesta,  long  has  burned. 
Not  the  coarse  flame  of  a  corrupted  heart, 
To  every  worship  dedicate  alike, 
A  false  perfidious  seeming. — 

Eva.    I  implore  you 
To  spare  your  accusations. — I  am  come — 

Vic.    Doubtless  to  vindicate  yourself. 

Eva,    Oh,  no  !— 
An  angel  now  would  vainly  plead  my  cause 
Within  Yicentio's  heart — therefore,  my  lord, 
I  have  no  intent  to  interrupt  the  rite 
That  makes  that  lady  yours  ;  but  I  am  come 
Thus  breathless  as  you  see  me — would  to  heav'n 
I  could  be  tearless,  too  ! — "  you  will  think,  perhaps, 


Scene  I.] 


EVADNE. 


35 


"  That  'gainst  the  trembling  fearfulness  I  sin, 
"That  best  becomes  a  woman,  and  that  most 
"  Becomes  a  sad  abandoned  one." 

17c.    Evadne — 
Evadne,  you  deceive  yourself. 

Eva.    "I  knew 
"  I  should  encounter  this — 
"  But  I  will  endure  it" — nay,  more,  my  lord. 
Hear  all  the  vengeance  I  intend. — 

Vic.    Go  on. — 

Eva.    May  you  be  happy  with  that  happier  maid, 
That  never  could  have  loved  you  more  than  I  do, 
But  may  deserve  you  better  ! — May  your  days, 
Like  a  long  stormless  summer,  glide  away, 
And  peace  and  trust  be  with  you  ! — "May  you  be 
"  The  after-patterns  of  felicity, 
"  That  lovers,  when  they  wed,  may  only  wish 
u  To  be  as  blest  as  you  were  ;  loveliness 
"Dwell  round  about  you,  like  an  atmosphere 
"  Of  our  soft  southern  air,  where  every  flower 
"In  Hymen's  yellow  wreath  may  bloom  and  blow  ! 
"  Let  nature,  with  the  strong  domestic  bond 
"  Of  parent  tenderness,  unite  your  hearts 
"  In  holier  harmony  ;  and  when  you  see 
"  What  you  both  love,  more  ardently  adore  f 
And  when  at  last  you  close  your  gentle  lives, 
Blameless  as  they  were  blessed,  may  you  fall 
Into  the  grave  as  softly  as  the  leaves 
Of  two  sweet  roses  on  an  autumn  eve, 
Beneath  the  soft  sighs  of  the  western  wind, 
"Drop  to  the  earth  together  1 — for  myself — 
I  will  but  pray — (  Sobbing. ) — I  will  but  pray,  my  lord 

Vic.  (Aside.)  I  must  begone,  else  she  may  soon  regain 
A  mastery  o'er  my  nature. 

Eva    Oh,  Vicentio, 
I  see  that  I  am  doomed  a  trouble  to  you. 
I  shall  not  long  be  so 
There's  but  one  trouble  I  shall  ever  give 
To  any  one  again.    I  will  but  pray 
The  maker  of  the  lonely  beds  of  peace 
To  open  one  of  his  deep,  hollow  ones, 
Where  misery  goes  to  sleep,  and  let  me  in  ; — 


38 


EVADNE. 


[Act  III. 


If  ever  you  chance  to  pass  beside  my  grave, 
I  am  sure  you'll  not  refuse  a  little  sigh. 
And  if  my  friend,  (I  still  will  call  her  so,) 
My  friend,  Olivia,  chicle  you,  pr'ythee  tell  her 
Not  to  be  jealous  of  me  in  my  grave. 

Vic.    The  picture  !     In  youi  bosom — near  your  heart — 
There,  on  the  very  swellings  of  your  breast, 
The  very  shrine  of  chastity,  you  raised 
A*foul  and  cursed  idol  ! 

Eva.    You  did  not  give  me  time — no — not  a  moment, 
To  think  what  villany  was  wrought  to  make  me 
So  hateful  to  your  eyes. — It  is  too  late  ; 
You  are  Olivia's,  I  have  no  claim  to  you — 
You  have  renounced  me — 

Vic.    Come,  confess — confess — 

Eva.    What,  then,  should  I  confess  ? — that  you,  that 
heaven, 

That  all  the  world  seems  to  conspire  against  me, 
And  that  I  am  accursed  ? — But  let  me  hold — 
I  waste  me  in  the  selfishness  of  woe, 
While  life,  perchance,  is  periled. — Oh,  Yicentio, 
Prithee,  avoid  Colonna's  sight ! 

Vic.    Evadne  ! — 
You  do  not  think  to  fright  me  with  his  name  ? 

Eva.    Yicentio,  do  not  take  away  from  me 
All  that  I've  left  to  love  in  all  the  world  ! 
Avoid  Colonna's  sight  to-day. — Yicentio, 
Only  to-day  avoid  him, — I  will  find 
Some  way  to  reconcile  him  to  my  fate — 
I'll  lay  the  blame  upon  my  hapless  head  ! — 
Only  to-day,  Yicentio. 

Enter  Colonna,  r.  s.  e. 

Cot.    (rJ  Ha  !  my  sister  ! 
Where  is  thy  dignity  ?    Where  is  the  pride 
Meet  for  Colonna's  sister  ? — hence  ? — My  lord — 

Vic.    (%.)  What  would  you,  sir  ! 

Col.    Your  life  : — you  are  briefly  answered. 
Look  here,  sir. — To  this  lady  you  preferred 
Your  despicable  love  !    Long  did  you  woo, 
And  when  at  last,  by  constant  adoration, 
Her  sigh  revealed  that  you  were  heard,  you  gained 


Scene  I.] 


EVADXE. 


31 


Her  brother's  cold  assent. — Well,  then — no  more — 
For  I've  no  patience  to  repeat  my  cause 
The  wrong  that  thou  hast  done  her.    It  has  reached 
Colonna's  ear,  that  you  have  abandoned  her — 
It  rings  through  Naples,  my  good  lord — now,  mark  me — 
I  am  her  brother — 
Vic.  Well— 

Eva.  ( cj  Forbear  !  forbear ! 
I  have  no  injury  you  should  resent 
In  such  a  fearful  fashion. — I— my  brother — 
[  am  sure  I  never  uttered  a  complaint 
Heaved  with  one  sigh,  nor  shed  a  single  tear. 
Look  at  me,  good  Colonna  ! —  now,  Colonna, 
Can  you  discern  a  sorrow  in  my  face  ? 
I  do  not  weep — I  do  not — look  upon  me — 
Why,  I  can  smile,  Colonna  [Bursts  into  tears. 

Oh  !  my  brother  ! — 

Col.    You  weep,  Evadne  !  but  I'll  mix  your  tears 
With  a  false  villain's  blood. — If  you  have  left 
A  sense  of  aught  that's  noble  in  you  still — 

Vic.    My  lord,  you  do  mistake,  if  you  have  hope 
Vicentio's  name  was  e'er  designed  to  be 
The  cloak  of  such  vile  purpose — 

Col.    How  ?  explain — 
I  understand  you  not. 

Eva.    Forbear,  Colonna  ; 
Before  your  face,  and  in  the  face  of  heaven, 
I  freely  do  resign  him  ;  I  forgive  him, 
And  may  heaven  follow  my  example,  too  ! 

Col.    But  I  will  not,  Evadne. — I  shall  deal 
In  briefest  phrase  with  you. — Is't  true,  my  lord, 
STou  have  abandoned  her  ? 

Vic.    Is't  true,  my  lord, 
That  to  the  king- 
Co/.    The  king  ? 

Vic.    And  could  you  think 
That  I  am  to  be  made  an  instrument 
For  such  a  foul  advancement  ?  do  you  think 
That  I  would  turn  my  name  into  a  cloak  ?— -  • 

Eva.    Colonna,  my  dear  brother  !    Oh,  Yicentio  ! 
My  love,  my  life,  my — pardon  me,  my  lord, 
I  had  forgot — I  have  no  right  to  use 


33 


EVADNE. 


[Act  III. 


"Words  that  were  once  familiar  to  my  lips  : 
But,  for  Heaven's  sake,  I  do  implore  you  here — 

Col.    Sir,  you  said  something,  if  I  heard  aright, 
Touching  the  king  ; — explain  yourself. 

Vic.    I  will  ! 
I  will  not  wed  his  mistress  ! 

Eva.  ( With  reproach.)  Oh,  Yicentio  I 
Whom  mean  you,  sir  ? 

Vic.    Look  there  ! 

Col.    Evadne  1  ha  ? 

Vic.    Evadne  ! 

Col.  (Crosses,  c,  and  strikes  him  with  his  glove.)  Here's 
my  answer  !  follow  me  I 
Beyond  the  city's  gates,  I  shall  expect  you.  [Exit,  l. 

Eva.  (Clinging  to  Vicentio,  who  has  his  sword  drawn,  and 
kneeling  to  him.)  You  shall  not  stir  ! 

Vic.    If  from  his  heart  I  poured 
A  sea  of  blood,  it  would  not  now  content  me. 
Insolent  villain  !  dost  thou  stay  me  back  ? 
Away  !  unloose  me  ! 

Eva.    Olivia,  hear  me — listen  to  my  cry — 
It  is  thy  husband's  life  that  now  I  plead  for  ; 
Save,  oh,  save  him  ! 

Vic.    Then  must  I  fling  thee  from  me. 
That  swift  as  lightning  on  the  whirlwind's  wings, 
I  rush  to  my  revenge  I 

Eva.    Oh  ?  my  poor  heart  ! 
Choak  not,  thou  struggling  spirit,  in  my  breast ! 
Hear  me,  Olivia  ! — Olivia,  hear  me  ! 

Vicentio  drags  Evadne  off,  r.,  she  clinging  to  his 
*  neck. 


END  OF  ACT  III. 


Scene  I,] 


EVADNE. 


89 


ACT  IY. 

Scene  T. —  The  Bay,  and  View  of  Naples. 

Enter  Colonna  and  Yicentio,  l.,  with  their  swords  drawn, 

passing  across  to  r. 

Col.  Yonder,  my  lord,  beside  the  cypress  grove, 
Fast  by  the  churchyard — there's  a  place,  methinks, 
Where  we  may  'scape  the  eye  of  observation. 

Vic.    I  follow,  sir — the  neighborhood  of  the  grave 
Will  suit  our  purpose  well,  for  you  or 
Must  take  its  measure  ere  the  sun  be  set.  [Exeunt,  r. 

Enter  Ludovico,  l.  s.  e.,  as  they  go  off. 

End.     Ha  !  there  they  go  ! — the  furies  with  their  whips 
Of  hissing  serpents,  lash  you  to  your  fate  ! 
My  dull  and  passionate  fools — you  fall  at  last 
Into  the  pit  I  have  dug  for  you — the  grave. 
You  grasp  the  murdering  hilt,  while  I,  in  thought, 
Already  clench  the  glorious  staff  of  empire. 
I  hate  you  both  ! — One  of  you  has  denounced  me— 
The  other,  robbed  me  of  a  woman's  love.  « 
They  have  already  entered  in  the  grove 
Of  funeral  cypress. — Now  they  are  lost 
Amid  the  crowded  trunks — and  yet  a  moment, 
And  they  will  be  about  it  I — Now,  Yicentio, 
Thy  fate  is  sealed — Colonna's  arm — ■ 
Ha  !  who  comes  here  ? 
Evadne  ! — yes — my  eyes  deceive  me  not — 
'Twas  happiest  chance  that  led  me  to  the  field- 
She  must  be  interrupted — let  me  think — 
I  have  it. 

Enter  Evadne,  l. 

Eva.    For  heaven's  sake,  whoe'er  you  are, 
Tell  me  which  way  they  passed — doth  not  this  lead 
To  the  eastern  gate  of  the  city  ? — Ha  !  Ludovico  ! 
My  lord,  my  lord — my  brother,  and  Yicentio — 

Lud.    I  know  it  all — and  I  shall  thank  the  fate 
That  made  Ludovico  the  messenger 


40 


EVADNE. 


[Act  IY 


Of  such  blest  tidings  to  Evadne's  ear — 
Your  brother  and  Yicentio. 

Eva.    Speak,  my  lord — 
For  heaven's  sake,  speak  ! 

Lud.    They  are  secure — thank  heaven, 
Their  purpose  is  prevented. — 

Eva.    Secure ! 
My  brother  and  Yicentio  are  secure  1 

Lud.    By  providential  circumstance,  before 
Their  purpose  was  accomplished,  both  were  seized, 
And  all  their  furious  passions  are  as  hushed 
As  the  still  waters  of  yon  peaceful  bay. 

Eva.    Ludovico,  I  cannot  speak  how  much 
Thou  hast  bound  me  to  thee,  by  the  holy  sounds 
Thou  hast  breathed  upon  mine  ear  ! — But,  tell  me,  sir, 
Where,  how,  and  when  was  this  1 — What  blessed  hand — 
"  Speak,  my  lord  !" 

Lud.    'Twas  I ! 

Eva.    'Twas  you,  Ludovico  ? 

Lud.    The  same  ! 
Hearing  Olivia's  marriage  with  Yicentio, 
I  saw  the  dreadful  issue,  and  I  flew 
With  the  strong  arm  of  power  to  intercept  them. 

Eva.    'Twas  you,  Ludovico — what  shall  I  say  ? 
I  know  not  what  to  tell  you. — But,  heav'n  bless  you  ! 
A  thousand  times,  heaven  bless  you  ! — On  my  knees.. 
And  at  your  feet,  I  thank  you.  [Kneels. 

Lud.    Beautiful  Evadne  ! 
Loveliest  beneath  the  skies,  where  everything 
Grows  lovely  as  themselves  !    Nay,  do  not  bend 
Your  eyes,  and  hide  beneath  these  fleecy  clouds, 
Stars  beaming  as  the  evening  one,  nor  turn 
That  cheek  away,  that,  like  a  cold  rose,  seems 
Besprankt  with  snow  ! — nor  strive  to  win  from  me 
Those  hands,  which  he  who  formed  the  lily,  formed 
With  imitative  whiteness — I  will  presume, — 
For  your  dear  sight  hath  made  a  madman  of  me, 
To  press  my  rapture  here  — 

[About  to  take  her  hand,  which  she  carelessly  withdraws. 

Eva.    My  lord,  I  own 
That  you  surprise  me,  and  were  I  not  bound 
By  strenuous  obligation,  I  should  say, 


Scene  I.] 


EVADNE. 


41 


Perchance  yon  did  offend  me — But  I  will  not  ! 
Accept  my  gratitude,  and  be  you  sure 
These  thanks  are  from  a  warm  au.d  honest  heart. 
Farewell  !  [Crosses,  r. 

Lud.    You  fly  me,  then  ! 

Eva.    I  do  not  fly  your  presence,  but  I  go 
To  seek  my  brother's  bosom — 

Lud.    And  Vicentio's  ! 

Eva.    You  would  be  merry,  sir. 

Lud.    I  have  not  cause — 
Nor  shall  you,  madam.    You  would  fly  me  thus, 
To  rush  at  once  into  my  rival's  arms — 
Nay,  do  not  start — he  well  deserves  the  name — 
I  know  him  by  no  other. 

Eva.    Sir,  I  hope 
You  will  not  revive  a  subject  that  has  long 
Between  us  been  forgotten. 

Lud.   What !  forgotten  ? 
I  did  not  think  to  hear  it — said  you  forgotten  ? 
Nay,  do  not  think  you  leave  me — in  return 
For  such  small  service  as  I  have  done  to-day, 
1  beg  your  audience — tell  me  what's  forgotten  ? 
I  would  hear  it  from  your  lips. 

Eva.    I  did  not  mean — 
Forgive,  and  let  me  go.  [Crosses,  r. 

Lud.    What  ?  what  forgotten  ? 
Your  heartlessness  to  all  the  maddening  power 
Of  the  tumultuous  passions  in  my  heart  ! — 
What !  what  forgotten  ?  all  the  injuries 
You  have  cast  upon  my  head — the  stings  of  fire 
You  have  driven  into  my  soul — my  agonies, 
My  tears,  my  supplications,  and  the  groans 
Of  my  indignant  spirit !    I  can  hold 
My  curbed  soul  no  more — it  rushes  out  ! 
What  ?  what  forgotten  ? — me — Ludovico  ? 

Eva.    I  pray  you,  my  good  lord,  for  heaven's  sake,  hear 
me. 

Lud.    What !  to  behold  him,  like  a  pilferer, 
With  his  smooth  face  of  meanless  infancy, 
And  his  soft  moulded  body,  steal  away 
That  feathered  thing,  thy  heart. 

Eva.  Ludovico, 


42 


EVADXE. 


[Act  IV. 


What  may  this  sudden  fury  mean  ? — you  do 
But  act  these  horrid  passions  to  affright  me  1 
For  you  to-day  preserved  him,  did  you  not  ? 
Did  you  not  say  you  saved  Yicentio  ? 

Lud.    1  will  permit  you  shortly  to  embrace  him — 
I  will  not  long-  detain  you  from  his  arms — 
But  you  will  find  him  grown  as  cold  a  lover 
As  moonlight  statues — his  fond  arms  will  hang 
In  loosened  idleness  about  your  form, — 
And  from  those  lips,  where  you  were  wont  to  t'imbibe 
The  fiery  respiration  of  the  heart, 
You  will  touch  the  coldness' of  the  unsunned  snow, 
Without  it's  purity. 

Eva.'  I  now  perceive 
What  you  would  hint,  my  lord  : — doubtless  you  deem 
Yicentio  hath  preferred  Olivia's  love  ? 

Lud     If  you  can  wake  his  heart  to  love  again, 
I'll  hold  you  for  a  sorceress — no,  Evadne, 
You  ne'er  shall  be  Yicentio's — but  mine  ! 

Era.    Thine ! 

Lud.    Mine  ! — I  have  said  it,  and  before  to-night 
I'll  verify  the  prophecy. 

Era.    I  know  not 
What  lies  within  the  dark  and  horrid  cave 
Of  your  imagination  ;  but  be  sure 
I  had  rather  clasp  Yicentio  dead — I  see 
That  you  recoil  with  passion. 

Lud.    By  the  fires — 
Down,  down,  my  burning  heart  ! — So  you  would  rather 
Within  Yicentio's  cold  and  mouldering  shroud, 
Warm  into  love,  than  on  this  beating  heart  ? 
But  be  it  so — you  will  have  occasion  soon 
To  try  the  experiment — and  then,  Evadne, 
You  will  more  aptly  judge.  . 

Eva.    Ha  !  a  strong  glare, 
Like  the  last  flash  from  sinking  ships,  has  poured 
A  horrid  radiance  on  me — Ha  !  Ludovico — 
Let  it  be  frenzy  that  before  my  face 
Spreads  out  that  sheet  of  blood — 

Lud.    Well,  my  Evadne  ? 

Eva.    Demon,  hast  thou  mocked  me  ? 

Lud.  Didst  thou  not  scorn — didst  thou  not  madden  me  ? 


Scene  I.] 


EVADNE. 


43 


Didst  thou  not — Ha  !  [Seeing  Colonna,  crosses,  r. 

By  heavens,  it  is  himself  ! — 

All  is  accomplished — and  upon  my  front 

Methinks  I  clasp  the  round  of  royalty  ! 

Already  do  I  clasp  thee  in  mine  arms  ! 

Evadne  ! — There — look  there — Colonua  comes, 

(Crosses,  l. 

And  on  that  weapon,  flaming*  from  afar, 

He  bears  the  vengeance  of  Ludovico.  [Exit.  l. 

Enter  Colonna,  k.,  with  his  sword  bloody. 

Col.    Evadne  here  ! 

Eva,    My  brother  ! 

Col.    Call  me  so — 
For  I  have  proved  myself  to  be  thy  brother. 
Look  here  ! 

Eva.    There's  blood  upon  it  ! 

Col.    And  there  should  be. 

Eva.    Thou  hast — 

Col.    I  have  revenged  thee  I 

Eva.  Thou  hast  slain — 
Yillain,  thou  hast  slain  Yicentio  ? 

Col.    I  have  revenged  thee — 
For  any  wrong  done  to  my  single  self, 
I  should,  perhaps,  repent  me  of  the  deed ; 
But,  for  a  wrong  to  thee — Why  dost  thou  look 
Up  to  the  heavens  with  such  a  'wildered  gaze  ? 

Eva.    To  curse  thee,  and  myself,  and  all  the  world ! 
Yillaiu,  thou  hast  slain  Yicentio  ! — thou  hast  slain  him 
Who  was  as  dear  unto  my  frantic  heart, 
As  thou  art  horrible  ! — and  'tis  to  me 
Thou  comest  to  tell  me,  too— thou  comest  to  bear 
That  weapon  weltering  with  my  lover's  blood, 
And  stab  these  blasted  eye-balls — Hide  thee,  villain  ! 
Hide  thee  within  the  centre  of  the  earth  ! 
Thou  art  all  made  of  blood — and  to  the  sun 
Art  grown  detestable — (Crosses,  r.J  Yicentio  ! 
My  lord  !  my  bosom's  throb  !  my  pulse  of  life  ! 
My  soul  !  my  joy — my  love  ! — my  all  the  world  ! 
Yicentio  !  Yicentio  !  ( Crosses,  l. 

Col.    Thy  passionate  grief 
Doth  touch  me  more  than  it  beseems  mine  honour. 


EVADXE. 


[Act  IT. 


Eva.    Strike  that  infernal  weapon  through  my  heart ! 
Colonna,  kill  me  ! 
Kill  mc,  my  brother  ! 

Col.    Prithee,  my  Evadne, 
Let  me  conduct  thy  grief  to  secresy — 
I  must  from  hence  prepare  my  speedy  flight, 
For  now  my  head  is  forfeit  to  the  law  ! 

Enter  Spalatro,  with  Officer  and  eight  Guards,  l. 

Spal.    Behold  him  here.    Sir,  I  am  sorry  for 
The  duty  which  mine  office  hath  prescribed  ! 
You  are  my  prisoner. 

Col.    Sir,  there  is  need 
Of  little  words  to  excuse  you — I  was  talking 
Of  speeding  me  from  Naples,  as  you  came, 
But  I  scarce  grieve  you  interrupt  my  flight, — 
Here  is  my  sword. 

Spal.    You  are  doomed  to  death  I 

Eva.    To  death  1 

Spal.    The  king  himself, 
Hearing  your  combat  with  Yicentio, 
Hath  sworn,  that  who  survived,  shall  by  the  axe — 

Col.    You  speak  before  a  woman — I  was  well 
Acquainted  with  my  fate  before  you  spoke  it. 

Eva.    Death  !  must  you  die,  Colonna  ?  must  you  die  ? 
Oh  !  no — no — no  !  not  die,  sir, — say  not  die — 

[Crosses,  c. 

Col.    Retire,  my  sister — sir,  I  follow  you — 

Eva.    Oh,  not  die,  Colonna  !  no,  Colonna, 
They  shall  not  take  thee  from  me  ! 

Col.    My  sweet  sister  ! 
I  pray  you,  gentlemen,  one  moment  more— 
This  lady  is  my  sister,  and  indeed 
Is  now  my  only  kin  in  all  the  world, 
And  I  must  die  for  her  sake — my  sweet  sister  ! 

Eva.    No,  no,  not  die,  my  brother  —Oh  !  not  die  ! 

Col.    Eradne  1  sweet  Evadne  !    Let  me  hear 

( Evadne  becomes  gradually  insensible. 
Thy  voice  before  I  go — I  prithee,  speak — 
That  even  in  death  I  may  remember  me 
Of  its  sweet  sounds,  Evadne — she  has  fainted  ! 
Sir,  I  have  a  prayer  to  you. 


Scene  II.] 


EVADNE. 


45 


Spal.    It  shall  bo  granted. 
Col.    My  palace  is  hard  by — let  some  of  these 
Good  guardians  of  the  law  attend  me  thither. 
Evadne,  for  thy  sake,  I  am  .almost  loth 
To  leave  a  world,  the  which,  when  I  am  gone, 
Thou  wilt  find,  I  fear,  a  solitary  one  ! 

Exit,  bearing  Evadne,  and  followed  by  Spalatro  and 
Guards,  r. 

Scene  II. — A  Prison 

Enter  Lunovico,  r.,  meeting  Stalatro,  l, 

Lud.    Where  is  Colonna  ? — Not  yet  arrived  ? 

Spal.    Guarded,  he  bore 
His  sister  to  his  palace,  from  the  which 
He  will  be  soon  led  here. — 

Lud.    Spalatro,  as  I  passed,  a  rumor  came, 
Colonna?s  sword  had  but  half  done  the  work. 
And  that  Vicentio  was  not  staobed  to  death — • 
If  he  still  lives — but  till  I  am  sure  of  it, 
No  need  to  speak  my  resolution, — 
Thou  art  his  friend — 

Spat.    Such  Fm  indeed  accounted, 
But,  save  yourself,  none  doth  deserve  the  name. 

Lud.    Then,  hie  thee  hence,  Spalatro,  to  inform  me 
If  yet  Yicentio  breathes — (  Spalatro  crosses,  r  ) — and  after- 
wards, 

I'll  make  some  trial  of  thy  love  to  me. 

( Exit  Spalatro,  r.  d 
Enter  Colonna,  Officer,  and  eight  Guards,  l. 

Col.    Conduct  me  to  my  dungeon  ! — I  have  parted 
F rom  all  that  bound  my  bosom  to  the  world — 
Ludovico  ! 

Lud.    The  same 

Col.    Come  you,  my  lord, 
To  swill  with  drunken  thirst,  the  poor  revenge 
That  makes  a  little  mind's  ignoble  joy  ? 

Lud.    Guards  !  I  discharge  Colonna  from  your  care  ; 
He  is  no  more  your  prisoner — Hence  ! 

(Exeunt  Officer  and  Guards^  l 

My  lord, 


46 


evadne.  [Act  IV 


Sucli  is  the  vengeance  of  Ludovico  ! 

Col.    What  is  a  man,  doomed  to  the  stroke  of  death, 

To  understand  by  this  ? 

Lud.    That  I  am  his  friend, 
Who  called  me  traitor  ! 

Col.    Such  I  call  you  still. 

Lud.    Well,  then,  I  am  a  traitor. 

Col    There  is  here 
A  kind  of  marvellous  honesty,  my  lord. 

Lud.    In  you,  'twas  nobleness  to  bear  the  charge, 
"  And  yet  'twas  glory  to  deserve  it,  too. 
"  Your  father  was  the  tutor  of  the  king, 
"  And  loyalty  is  your  inheritance — 
"  I  am  not  blind  to  such  exalted  virtue," 
And  I  resolved  to  win  Colonna's  heart, 
As  hearts  like  his  arc  won  ! — Unto  the  king, 
Soon  as  Vicentio's  fate  had  reached  mine  ear, 
I  hastened  and  implored  your  life. 

Col.    My  life  !— 
Well,  sir,  my  life  ?  (With  indifference, 

Lud.    Upon  my  knees  I  fell, 
Nor  can  I  speak  the  joy  that  in  my  heart 
Leaped,  when  I  heard  him  say,  that  thou  shonldst  live. 

Col.    I  am  loth  to  owe  you  gratitude,  ray  lord, 
But,  for  my  sister's  sake,  whom  I  would  not 
Leave  unprotected  on  the  earth,  I  thank  you  ! 

Lud.    You  have  no  cause  to  thank  me  •,  for,  Colonna, 
He  did  pronounce  your  death,  e'en,  as  he  said, 
He  gave  you  life. 

Col.    I  understand  you  not. 

Lad    Your  honour's  death,  Colonna,  -which  I  hold 
The  fountain  of  vitalit}1-, 

Col.    Go  on  ! 
I  scarce  did  hear  what  did  concern  my  life, 
But  aii^ht  that  touches  honour — 

Lud.    Oh  !  Colonna,, 
I  almost  dread  to  tell  thee. 

Col.  Prithee,  speak  ! 
Yon  put  me  on  the  rack  ! 

Lud.    Wilt  thou  promise  mev — 
I  will  not  ask  thee  to  be  calm,  Colonna, — 
Wilt  promise  me,  that  thou  wilt  not  be  mad  ? 


Scene  L]  evadne. 

Col.    Whate'er  it  be,  I  will  contain  myself. 
You  said  'twas  something  that  concerned  mine  honour. 
The  honour  of  mine  house — he  did  not  dare 
To  say  my  blood  should  by  a  foul  attaint 
Be  in  my  veins  corrupted  ;  from  their  height 
The  mouldering  banners  of  my  family 
Flung  to  the  earth  ;  the  'scutcheons  of  my  fame 
Trod  by  dishonour's  foot,  and  my  great  race 
Struck  from  the  list  of  nobles  ? 

Lud,    No,  Colonna, 
Struck  from  the  list  of  men  I — he  dared  to  ask 
As  a  condition  for  thy  life,  ( my  tongue 
Doth  falter  as  I  speak  it,  and  my  heart 
Can  scarcely  heavej  by  heavens,  he  dared  to  ask 
That,  to  his  foul  and  impious  clasp,  thou  shouldst 
Yield  up  thy  sister. 

Col,    Ha  ! 

Lud.    The  king  doth  set  a  price 
Upon  thy  life,  and  'tis  thy  sister's  honour. 

Col    My  sister  ! 

Lud.    Ay,  thy  sister  ! 

Col,    What ! — my  sister  ! 

Lud.    Yes  ! — your  sister,  sir, — Evadne  ! 

Col.    Evadne  !    Thou  hast  plunged  into  mine  ear 
A  sword  of  fire,  and  draw'st  it  to  and  fro 
Athwart  my  brain — my  sister  1 

Lud.    Hold,  Colonna  ! 

Col.    By  yon  heaven, 
Though  he  were  born  with  immortality, 
Iwill  find  some  way  to  kill  him  ! 
My  sister  ! 

Lud.    Do  not  waste  in  idle  wrath — 

Col.    My  fathers  !  do  you  hear  it  in  the  tomb  ? 
Do  not  your  mouldering  remnants  of  the  earth 
Feel  horrid  animation  in  the  grave, 
And  strive  to  burst  the  ponderous  sepulchre, 
And  throw  it  off  ? — My  sister  !  oh  !  yon  heavens  ! 
Was  this  reserved  for  me  ?  for  me  ! — the  son 
Of  that  great  man  that  tutored  him  in  arms, 
And  loved  him  as  myself  ? — I  know  you  wonder 
That  tears  are  dropping  from  my  flaming  eyelids  ; 
But  'tis  the  streaming  of  a  burning  heart, 


48 


evadne.  [Act  IY. 


A'icl  these  are  drops  of  fire. — My  sister  ! 

Lud.    Now — 
Do  you  now  call  me  traitor  ?    Do  you  think  . 
'Twas  such  a  crime,  from  off  my  country's  heart 
To  fling  this  incubus  of  royalty  ? — 
Am  I  a  traitor?  is't  a  sin,  my  lord, 
To  think  a  dagger  were  of  use  in  Naples  ? 

Col.    Thou  shalt  not  touch  a  solitary  hair 
Upon  the  villain's  head  ! — his  life  is  mine  ; 
His  heart  is  grown  my  property — Ludovico, 
None  kills  him  but  myself ! — I  will,  this  moment, 
Amid  the  assembled  court,  in  face  of  day, 
Rush  on  the  monster,  and,  without  a  sword, 
Tear  him  to  pieces  !  [Going,  l. 

Lud.     Nay,  Colonna,  , 
Within  his  court  he  may  perchance  escape  you — 
But,  if  you  do  incline  to  do  a  deed 
Antiquity  would  envy, — with  the  means 
He  hath  furnished  you  himself  ! — He  means,  Colonna, 
In  your  own  house  that  you  should  hold  to-night 
A  glorious  revelry  to  celebrate 
Your  sovereign's  sacred  presence  ;  and  so  soon 
As  all  the  guests  are  parted,  you  yourself 
Should  lead  your  sister  to  him — 

Col.    That  I  should 
Convert  the  palace  of  mine  ancestors 
Into  a  place  of  broth elry — myself  ! — 
Tell  me  no  more,  I  prithee,  if  thou  wouldst 
I  should  be  fit  for  death  ! — 

Lud.    In  honour  be 
A  Roman,  an  Italian  in  revenge. 
"  Waste  not  in  idle  or  tempestuous  sound, 
"  Thy  great  resolve.    The  king  intends  to  bear 
"  The  honour  of  his  presence  to  your  house." 
Nay,  hold  ! — I'll  tell  him  you  consent — he  straight 
Will  fall  into  the  snare,  and  then,  Colonna, 
Make  offering  of  his  blood  to  thy  revenge  ! 

Col.    I  thank  thee  for  thy  warning— 'tis  well  thought 
on — 

I'll  make  my  vengeance  certain,  and  commend 
Thy  wisdon  in  the  counselling. 
Lud.    Then,  hie  thee  hence  ! 


Scene  I.] 


EVADNE. 


49 


And  make  meet  preparation  for  the  banquet. 
I'll  straight  return,  and  tell  him  you're  all  joy 
In  the  honour  of  his  coming. 

Col.    The  rigorous  muscles  of  ray  clenched  hand 
Already  feel  impatience  for  the  blow 
That  strikes  the  crowned  monster  to  the  heart. 

[Exeunt,  Colonna,  l.,  Ludovico,  r. 

END  OF  ACT  IV. 


ACT  Y. 

Scene  I. — A  vast  Hall  in  Colonna's  Palace,  filled  with 
Statues. —  The  moon  streams  in  through  the  Gothic  win- 
dows, and  appears  to  fall  upon  the  Statues.  A  Chain- 
ber-door  at  back. 

Enter  Ludovico  and  the  King,  r. 

Lud.    This  is  the  way,  my  liege.    Colonna  bade  me 
Conduct  you  to  your  chamber,  while  he  went 
To  seek  the  fair  Evadne,  and  conduct 
Her  soft  reluctance  to  thy  highness'  arms. 

King.    Ludovico,  thou  hast  proved  thyself  to-day 
The  genius  of  my  happier  destiny  ; 
Thee  must  I  thank,  for  'twas  thy  rarer  wit 
Did  guide  me  on  to  heaven. 

Lud.  ( Aside.)  I'll  send  you  there. 

King.    When  first  I  heard  Yicentio  fell  beneath 
The  hot  Colonna's  sword,  I  do  confess, 
It  smote  me  sore  ;  but  now  'tis  told  abroad, 
That  he  hath  passed  all  peril. 

Lud.    I  am  glad 
His  death  doth  not  conduct  you  to  your  joya. 
Yicentio  bears  a  slight,  unharming  wound, 
That  sheds  his  blood,  but  perils  not  his  life  : 
But  let  him  pass — let  not  a  thought  of  him 
Flit  round  the  couch  of  love. 

King.    Good  night,  my  friend, 
And  prithee,  bid  Colonna  swiftly  lead  her 
To  the  expecting  transports  of  my  heart. 


50 


EVADNE 


[Act  Y. 


Lud.    I  will  bid  him  speed  her  coyness. 
King.    Hie  thee,  Ludovico, 
For  every  moment  seems  an  age. 

[Exit  into  chamber,  r.  u.  e. 

Lud.    An  age ! 
For  you,  nor  minute,  hour,  nor  day,  nor  year, 
Kor  age,  shall  shortly  be. 

"  'Tis  now  the  dead  of  night — That  sounds  to  me 
"  Like  an  apt  word, — for  nature  doth  to  me 
"  Show  like  a  giant  corse. — This  mighty  world, 
"  Its  wide  and  highly-vaulted  sepulchre, 
11  And  yonder  moon  a  tomb-lamp  !  when  the  king 
"  Lies  dead  to  boot,  all  tilings  will  then  appear 
"  In  a  more  full  proportion." — Ha  !  he  comes  I 
My  dull  and  unconscious  instrument  ! — Colonna  ! 

Enter  Colonna,  with  a  dagger,  l.  u.  e 

Welcome,  my  friend,  for  such  I  dare  to  call  you. — 
The  king's  already  to  his  bed  retired, 
Where  death  will  be  his  paramour. 

Col.    I  have  heard 
Yicentio  was  not  wounded  unto  death — 
Would  this  were  sooner  known  ! 

Lud.    Why,  my  good  lord  ? 

Col.    Because  the  king  would  not  have  offered  me 
Such  an  indignity,  nor  should  I  now 
Tread  into  murder. 

Lud.    Murder  ! — I  had  hoped 
You  would  not,  on  the  threshold  of  the  deed. 
Stay  tottering  thus — One  would  deem 
It  was  a  deed  of  sin,  and  not  of  honour, 
That  you  had  undertaken. 

Col.    By  yon  heaven 
I  cannot  stab  him  like  a  slave  that's  hired 
To  be  a  blood-shedder  !  I  cannot  clench 
This  hand,  accustomed  to  a  soldier's  sword, 
Around  this  treacherous  hilt,  and  with  the  other 
Squeeze  the  choked  spirit  from  the  gasping  throat — • 
Then  kneel  upon  his  bosom,  and  press  out 
The  last  faint  sigh  of  life  !    Down,  damned  steel  ! 
Fit  instrument  for  cowards — (  Throws  down  the  dagger  near 
R.j  I  will  play 


Scene  L] 


EVADNE, 


A  warrior's  part,  and  arm  him  for  the  fight  ! — 

Give  me  thy  sword,  that  I  may  put  defence, 

Into  the  tyrant's  hand,  and  nobly  kill  him. 

Come  forth  !  [Going  to  n.  u. 

Lud.    Hold,  madman,  hold  ! — what  wouldst  thou  do  I 

Col.    Bravely  encounter  him — not  take  his  life 
Like  a  mercenary  stabber. 

Lud.    Hast  thou  thought 
That  he  may  be  the  victor  too  ? 

Col.    My  death. 
Will  not  be  thought  inglorious. 

Lud.    There's  some  praise. 
In  falling  by  the  hand  of  royalty  ; 
But  when  you  are  laid  within  your  sepulchre, 
And  rot  most  honourably,  then,  I  fear  me, 
A  lesser  shame  will  not  befal  your  house 
For  all  the  graven  marbles  on  your  tomb  I 
Your  sister — 

Col.    Ha ! 

Lud.    Your  sister  will  not  find, 
When  you  are  dead,  a  bulwark  in  your  grave. 
Where  will  she  find  a  guardian  arm  ? — thine  arm 
Will  be  the  food  of  the  consuming  worm, 
While  in  the  hot  embraces  of  the  king — 

Col.    I  did  not  think  on  that. 

Lud.    But  I  perhaps  mistake  you  all  this  while — 
You  have  better  thought  upon  the  dignity 
He  means  your  house 

Col.    You  do  not  dare — 

Lud.    I  dare  to  tell  you  this — 
Who  can  forgive  such  injury  as  thine, 
Hath  half  consented  to  it. — "  How  is  it 
"  The  glorious  resolve  hath  cooled  within  thee  ? 
"  Hath  anything  befallen  that  should  have  blown 
M  On  the  red  iron  of  thy  heated  wrath, 
14  And  steeped  thee  back  to  meekness  ?" — Was  the  touch 
Of  his  warm  amorous  hand,  wherein  he  palmed 
Her  struggling  fingers,  ice  upon  your  rage 
When  he  did  tread  upon  her  yielding  foot 
Beneath  the  cloth  of  gold — 

Cel.    If  I  had  seen  it, 
He  had  not  lived  an  instaut. 


52 


EVADNE. 


[Act  Y. 


Lud.    When  you  turned, 
He  flung  his  arms  around,  and  on  her  cheek. 
He  pressed  his  ravenous  lips  ! — 'Sdneath,  sir,  consider — 
You  pray  the  the  King*  of  Naples  to  your  roof, — 
You  hail  his  coming  in  a  feast  that  kings 
Could  scarce  exceed  in  glory — It  is  blown 
Through  all  the  city,  that  he  sleeps  to-night 
Within  your  sister's  bed  :  and,  it  is  said, 
That  you,  yourself,  have  smoothed  the  pillow  down. 

Col.    Where  is  he  ?  let  me  see  him  who  presumes 
To  think  the  blasphemy. 

Lud.    Behold  him  here  ! 
I,  sir — yes,  I — Ludovico,  dare  think 
With  every  man  in  Naples,  if  the  king 
Should  leave  your  roof  with  life,  that  he  has  tasted 
The  fruit  he  came  to  pluck. 

Col.    No  more — no  more — 
He  perishes,  Ludovico  ! 

Lud.    That's  well— 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  pull  into  your  heart 

[  Crosses  and  takes  up  the  dagger 
Its  brave  resolve  again — and  if  there  be 
Aught  wanting  to  confirm  thee,  think,  Colonna, 
Think  that  you  have  given  your  country  liberty, 
While  you  revenge  yourself  ! — Go,  my  Colonna — 
Yonder's  the  fated  chamber — plunge  the  steel 

[Gives  the  dagger  to  Colonna. 
Into  his  inmost  heart,  and  let  the  blood 
Flow  largely. 

Col.    I'll  call  to  thee  when  it  is  done 

Lud.    Hark  thee  1  he'll  cry  for  life — and  well  I  know 
The  pleading  for  existence  may  have  power 
Upon  thy  noble  nature — then,  Colonna, 
Drown  every  shriek  with  chaste  Evadne's  name, 
And  stab  him  as  thou  criest  it  1  [Exit,  r.  u.  e. 

[Colonna  advances  towards  the  chamber  door,  c 

Col.    I  will  do  it  ! — he  dies  ! 

[Pushes  the  door,  and  finds,  from  his  agitated  condition, 
that  it  is  difficult  to  move. 
**  I  can  scarce  move  the  door — it  will  not  yield  I 
<'  It  seems  as  if  seme  mighty  hand  were  laid 
*'  Against  it  to  repel  me." 


Scene  I.] 


EVADNE. 


Voice  exclaims,  l.  u.  e.)    Hold  ! 

Col.  ( Starling.)  It  was  only 
My  thought  informed  the  air  with  voice  around  me — 
"  Why  should  I  feel  as  if.  I  walked  in  guilt, 
"  And  trod  to  common  murder" — he  shall  die  ! 
Come,  then,  enraging  thought,  into  my  breast, 
And  turn  it  into  iron  ! 

(  Voice,  l.  u.  e.J  Hold  ! 

Col.    It  shot 
With  keen  reality  into  mine  ear. 
A  figure  in  the  shadow  of  the  moon, 
Moves  slowly  on  my  sight. 
What  art  thou  ? 

Evadne  advances,  l.  u.  e.,  from  behind  the  Statues. 

Eva.    My  brother  ! 

Col.    How,  my  sister  ! 
Come  you  across  my  purpose  ? 

Eva.    From  my  chamber 
That  to  the  great  hall  leads,  I  did  behold  you, 
In  dreadful  converse  with  Ludovico. — 
Your  looks  at  the  banquet  did  unto  my  fears 
Forbode  no  blessed  issue,  for  your  smiles 
Seemed  veils  of  death,  and  underneath  your  brows 
I  saw  the  silent  furies. — "  Oh,  Colonna, — 
"  Thank  heaven,  the  safety  of  Yicentio 
"  Has  given  me  power  to  watch  your  dangerous  steps  !" 
What  would  you  do  ? 

Col.    Get  thee  to  rest. 

Eva.    Is  that  high  front,  Colonna, 
One  to  write  Cain  upon  ? — Alas,  Colonna, 
I  did  behold  you  with  Ludovico, 
By  yonder  moon,  and  I  as  soon  had  seen  thee 
Commune  with  the  great  foe  of  all  mankind — 
What  wouldst  thou  do  ? 

Col.    Murder  ! 

Eva.    What  else,  Colonna, 
Could  thou  have  learned  from  Ludovico  ? 

Col.    In  yonder  chamber  lies  the  king — I  go 
To  stab  him  to  the  heart  I 

Eva    'Tis  nobly  done  ! 
I  will  not  call  him  king — but  guest,  Colonna — 


54 


EVADNE. 


[Act 


Remember,  you  have  called  him  here — remember, 
You  have  pledged  him  in  your  father's  golden  cup  ; 
Have  broken  bread  with  him — the  man,  Colonna — 

Col.    Who  dares  to  set  a  price  upon  my  life — 
What  thin'kst  thou  'twas  ? 

Eva.    I  think  there's  naught  too  dear 
To  buy  Colonna's  life. 

Col.    'Twas  a  vast  price 
He  asked  me,  then, — you  were  to  pay  it,  too — 
It  was  my  Evadne's  honour. 

Eva.    Ha  ! 

•  Col.  He  gives  my  life  upon  condition — Oh,  my  sister, 
I  am  ashamed  to  tell  thee  what  he  asked. 

"  Eva.    What !  did  he  V> 

Col.    Thou  dost  understand  me  now  ? 
Now,  if  thou  wilt,  abide  thee  here,  Evadne, 
Where  thou  may  est  hear  his  groan.  [Going 

Eva.    Oh  !  my  dearest  brother, 
Let  not  this  hand,  this  pure,  this  white,  fair  hand, 
Be  blotted  o'er  with  blood. 

Col.  (Aside.)  How  is  this  ?    She  seems 
To  bear  too  much  of  woman  in  her  heart  ; 
She  trembles — yet  she  does  not  shrink — her  cheek 
Is  not  inflamed  with  anger,  and  her  eye 
Darts  not  the  lightning  1 
Is  it  possible 

She  has  ta'en  the  sinful  wish  into  her  heart  ? 
By  heaven  her  pride  is  dazzled  at  the  thought 
Of  having  this  same  purple  villain  kneel, 
And  bend  his  crown  before  her — She's  a  woman  I 
Evadne  I 

Eva.    Well  ? 

Col.    The  king  expects  me  to 
Conduct  you  to  his  chamber — Shall  I  do  so  ? 

Eva.    I  prithee,  be  not  angry  at*  my  prayer— 
But  bid  him  come  to  me. 

Col.    What,  bid  him  come  to  thee  ? 

Eva.    And  leave  me  with  him  here. 

Col.    What  !  leave  thee  with  him  ? 

Eva.    Yes,  I  implore  of  thee — prithee,  Colonna, 
Conduct  my  sovereign  here. 

Col.    {Aside.)  Yes — I  will  try  her — 


Scene  I.] 


EVADNE. 


5o 


1  know  not  what  she  means,  but,  hitherto, 
I  deemed  her  virtuous.    If  she  fall,  she  dies. 
I'll  here  conceal  myself,  and  if  in  word 
She  give  consent,  I'll  rush  upon  them  both 
And  strike  one  heart  through  the  other. 
Eva.    Send  him  to  me. 

Col.    ( Aside.)  There's  a  wild  purpose  in  her  solemn  eye — 
I  know  not  if  'tis  sin,  but  I  will  make 
A  terrible  experiment. — ( Aside.)  What,  ho  I 
My  liege,  I  bear  fulfilment  of  my  promise — 
Colonna  bears  Evadne  to  your  arms' ! 

Enter  the  King  from  the  chamber,  m.  d. 

King.  Colonna,  my  best  friend,  how  shall  I  thank  thee  ? 
But  where  is  my  Evadne  ? 

Col.    There,  my  lord  ! 

King.    Colonna,  I  not  only  give  thee  life, 
But  place  thee  near  myself  ;  henceforth  thou  wilt  wear 
A  nobler  title  in  thy  family. — 
And  to  thy  great  posterity  we'll  send 
My  granted  dukedom. 

Col.    Sir,  you  honour  me. 
My  presence  is  no  longer  needed  here. 
(Aside.) A.  word's  consent  despatches  them  ! 

[Conceals  himself  behind  the 'pillars,  R.  u.  E. 

King.    My  fair  Evadne  !  lay  aside  thy  sad 
And  drooping  aspect,  in  this  hour  of  joy  ! 
Stoop  not  thy  head,  that  like  a  pale  rose  bends 
Upon  its  yielding  stalk — thou  hast  no  cause 
For  such  a  soft  abashment,  for  be  sure 
I'll  place  thee  high  in  honour. 

Eva.    Honour,  sir  ! 

King,    (r.)  Yes  ;  I'll  exalt  thee  into  dignity, 
Adorn  thy  name  with  titles — All  my  court 
Shall  watch  the  movement  of  thy  countenance, 
Riches  and  power  shall  wait  upon  thy  smile, 
And  in  the  lightest  bending  of  thy  brow, 
Death  and  disgrace  inhabit,  s 

Eva.    And,  my  liege, 
That  will  inhabit  my  own  heart  1 

King.    My  love  1 


56 


EVADNE. 


[Act  V. 


Come,  my  Evadne — what  a  form  is  here  ! 
The  imaginers  of  beauty  did  of  old 
O'er  three  rich  forms  of  sculptured  excellence 
Scatter  the  naked  graces  ;  but  the  hand 
Of  mightier  nature  hath  in  thee  combined 
Ail  varied  charms  together. 

Eva.    You  were  speaking 
Of  Sculpture,  sir — I  do  remember  me, 
You  are  deemed  a  worshipper  of  that  high  art 
Here,  my  lord,  [Pointing  to  the  Statues. 

Is  matter  for  your  transports  ! 

King.    Fair  Evadne  1 
Do  you  not  mean  to  mock  me  ?    Not  to  gaze 
On  yonder  lifeless  marbles,  did  I  come 
To  visit  you  to-night,  but  in  the  pure 
And  blue-veined  alabaster  of  a  breast, 
Richer  than  heaves  the  Parian  that  has  wed 
The  Florentine  to  imortality. 

Eva.    You  deem  me  of  a  light,  capricious  mood, 
But  it  were  hard  if  (woman  as  I  am) 
I  could  not  use  my  sex's  privilege — 
Though  I  should  ask  you  for  yon  orb  of  light, 
That  shines  so  brightly,  and  so  sadly  there, 
And  fills  the  ambient  air  with  purity — 
Should  you  not  fain,  as  'tis  the  wont  of  those 
Who  cheat  a  wayward  child,  to  draw  it  down. 
And  in  the  sheeted  splendour  of  a  stream 
To  catch  its  shivering  brightness  ! — It  is  my  pleasure 
That  you  should  look  upon  these  reverend  forms 
That  keep  the  likeness  of  mine  ancestry — 
I  must  enforce  you  to  it  ! 

King.    Wayward  woman  ! 
Wrhat  arts  does  she  intended  to  captivate 
My  soul  more  deeply  in  her  toils  ? 

Eva.    Behold  I  [  Going  to  a  statue,  r.  s.  e. 

The  glorious  founder  of  my  family  1 
It  is  the  great  Rodolpho  ! — Charlemagne 
Did  fix  that  sun  upon  his  shield,  to  be 
His  glory's  blazoned  emblem  ;  for  at  noon, 
When  the  astronomer  cannot  discern 
A  spot  upon  the  full-orbed  disk  of  light, 
>Tis  not  more  bright  than  his  immaculate  nj>me  \ 


Scene  I.] 


EVADNE. 


With  what  austere  and  dignified  regard 
He  lifts  the  type  of  purity,  and  seems 
Indignantly  to  ask,  if  aught  that  springs 
From  blood  of  his,  shall  dare  to  sully  it 
With  a  vapour  of  the  morning  ! 

King.    It  is  well  ; 
His  frown  has  been  attempered  in  the  lapse 
Of  generations,  to  thy  lovely  smile. — 
I  swear,  he  seems  not  of  thy  family 
My  fair  Evadne,  I  confess,  I  hoped 
Another  sort  of  entertainment  here. 

Eva.    Another  of  mine  ancestors,  my  liege — 

[Pointing  to  a  statue  l.  u. 

Guelfo,  the  murderer ! 

King.    The  murderer  ! 
I  knew  not  that  your  family  was  stained 
With  the  reproach  of  blood. 

Eva.    We  are  not  wont 
To  blush,  though  we  may  sorrow  for  his  sin, 
If  sin  indeed  it  be.    His  castle  walls 
Were  circled  in  the  siege  of  Saracens, — 
He  had  an  only  daughter,  whom  he  prized 
More  than  you  hold  your  diadem  ;  but  when 
He  saw  the  fury  of  the  infidels 
Burst  through  his  shattered  gates,  and  on  his  child 
Dishonour's  hand  was  lifted,  with  one  blow 
He  struck  her  to  the  heart,  and  with  the  other, 
He  stretched  himself  beside  her. 

King.    Fair  Evadne, 
I  must  no  more  indulge  you,  else,  I  fear, 
You  would  scorn  me  for  my  patience  ;  prithee,  love, 
Nor  more  of  this  wild  phantasy  ? 

Eva.    My  liege, 
But  one  remains,  and  when  you  have  looked  upon  it, 
And  thus  complied  with  my  request,  you  will  find  me 
Submissive  to  your  own.    Look  here,  my  lord — 
Know  you  this  statue  ?  [Pointing  to  a  statue,  l.  s. 

King.    No,  in  sooth,  I  do  not. 

Eva.    Nay — look  again — for  I  shall  think  but  ill 
Of  princely  memories,  if  you  can  find 
Within  the  inmost  chambers  of  your  heart 
No  image  like  to  *Ms — look  at  that  smile — 


58 


EYADNE. 


Act  V 


That  smile,  my  liege — look  at  it  ! 

King.    It  is  your  father  ! 

Eva.  ( Breaking  into  exultation.) 
Ay  ! — 'tis  indeed  my  father  ! — 'tis  my  good, 
Exalted,  generous,  and  god-like  father  ! 
Whose  memory,  though  he  had  left  his  child 
A  naked,  houseless  roamer  through  the  world, 
Were  an  inheritance  a  princess  might 
Be  proud  of  for  her  dower  !    It  is  my  father  ! 
Whose  like  in  honour,  virtue,  and  the  fine 
Integrity  that  constitutes  man, 
He  hath  not  left  behind  him  !  there's  that  smile, 
That  like  perpetual  day-light,  shone  about  him 
The  clear  and  bright  magnifience  of  soul  ! 
Who  was  my  father  ? 

[  With  a  proud  and  conscious  interrogatory 

King.    One,  whom  I  confess 
Of  high  and  many  virtues. 

Eca.    Is  that  all  ? 
I  will  help  your  memory,  and  tell  you,  first, 
That  the  King  of  Naples  looked  among 
The  noblest  in  his  realm  for  that  good  man, 
To  whom  he  might  entrust  your  opening  youth, 
And  found  him  worthiest.    In  the  eagle's  nest, 
Early  he  placed  you,  and  beside  his  wing 
You  learned  to  mount  to  glory  !  Underneath 
His  precious  care  yon  grew,  and  you  were  once 
Thought  grateful  tor  his  service.    His  whole  life 
Was  given  to  your  uses,  and  his  death —       [King  starts 
Ha  !  do  you  start,  my  lord  ?    On  Milan's  plain 
He  fought  beside  you,  and  when  he  beheld 
A  sword  thrust  at  your  bosom,  rushed — it  pierced  him 
He  fell  down  at  your  feet, — he  did,  my  lord  ! 
He  perished  to  preserve  you  ! — (Rushes  to  tbz  Statue.) — 

Breathless  image, 
Although  no  heart  doth  beat  within  that  breast, 
No  blood  is  in  his  veins,  let  me  enclasp  thee, 
And  feel  thee  at  my  bosom. — Now,  sir,  I  am  ready- 
Come  and  unlosse  these  feeble  arms,  and  take  me  ! — 
Ay,  take  me  from  this  neck  of  senseless  stone, — 
And  to  reward  the  father  with  the  meet 
And  wonted  recompense  that  princes  give — 


Scene  L] 


EVADNE. 


Make  me  as  foul  as  bloated  pestilence, 
As  black  ns  the  darkest  midnight,  and  as  vile 
As  guilt  and  shame  can  make  me. 

King.   She  has  smitten 
Compunction  through  my  soul! 

Eva.    Approach,  my  lord! 
Come,  in  the  midst  of  all  mine  ancestry, 
Come,  and  unloose  me  from  my  father's  arms — 
Come,  if  you  dare,  and  in  his  daughter's  shame, 
Reward  him  for  the  last  drops  of  the  blood 
Shed  for  his  prince's  life  ! 

King.    Thou  hast  wrought 
A  miracle  upon  thy  prince's  heart, 
And  lifted  up  a  vestal  lamp,  to  show 
My  soul  its  own  deformity — my  guilt ! 

Eva.    (Disengaging  herself  from  the  statue.) 
Ha  !  have  you  got  a  soul  ? — have  you  yet  left, 
Prince  as  you-are,  one  relic  of  a  man  ? 
Have  you  a  soul  ? — He  trembles — he  relents — 
I  read  it  in  the  glimmering  of  his  face  ; 
And  there's  a  tear,  the  bursting  evidence 
Of  nature's  holy  working  in  the  heart ! 
Oh,  heav'n,  he  weeps  !  my  sovereign,  my  liege  ! 
Heart  !  do  not  burst  in  ecstacy  too  soon  ! 
My  brother  !  my  Colonna  ! — hear  me — hear  ! 
In  all  the  wildering  triumph  of  my  soul, 
I  call  upon  thee  !    (Turning,  she  perceives  Colonna  adva 

cing  from  among  the  statues,  r.  u.  e. 
There  he  is — my  brother  ! 

Col.    (c.)  Let  me  behold  thee, 
Let  me  compress  thee  here  ! — Oh,  my  dear  sister  ! 
A  thousand  times  mine  own  ! — I  glory  in  thee, 
More  than  in  all  the  heroes  of  my  name  ! — 
I  overheard  you  converse,  and  methought 
It  was  a  blessed  spirit  that  had  ta'en 
Thy  heavenly  form,  to  show  the  wondering  world 
How  beautiful  was  virtue  ! — (  To  the  King.)  Sir, — - 

Eva.    (l.)  Colonna, 
There  is  your  king  ! 

Col.    Thou  hast  made  him  so  again  ! 
Thy  virtue  hath  recrowned  him — and  I  kneel 
His  faithful  subject  here  ! " 


CO 


EVADNE. 


Act  V. 


King,    (r.)    Arise,  Colonna  ! 
You  take  the  attitude  that  more  befits 
The  man  who  would  have  wronged  you,  but  whose  heart 
Was  by  a  seraph  called  again  to  heaven  I 
Forgive  me  ! 

Col.    Yes,  with  all  my  soul  I  do  ! 
And  I  will  give  you  proof  how  suddenly 
You  are  grown  my  prince  again. — Do  not  inquire 
What  I  intend,  but  let  me  lead  you  here, 
Behind  these  statues. — 

[Flam  the  King  behind  the  Statues,  r.  u.  e. 
Retire,  my  best  Evadne  !  [Exit  Evadne,  l. 

Ho  !  Ludovico  ! 

What,  ho  !  there  ! — Here  he  comes  ! 

Enter  Ludovico,  l. 

Ludovico, 

I  have  done  the  deed. — 

Lud.    He  is  dead  ? 

Col.    Through  his  heart, 
E'en  as  thou  badest  me,  did  I  drive  the  steel, 
And  as  he  cried  for  life,  Evadne's  name 
Drowned  his  last  shriek  I 

Lud    So  ! 

Col.    Why,  Ludovico, 
Stand  you  thus  rapt  ?    Why  does  your  bosom  heave 
In  such  wild  tumult  ?    Why  is  it  you  place 
Your  hand  upon  your  front  ?    What  hath  possessed  you  ! 

Lud.    (  With  a  strong  laugh  of  irony. )  Fool  1 

Col.    How  is  this  ? 

Lud.    So,  thou  hast  slain  the  king  ? 

Col.    I  did  but  follow  your  advice,  my  lord. 

Lud.    Therefore,  I   call  ye — fool  ! — From  the  king's 
head, 

Thou  hast  ta'en  the  crown,  to  place  it  on  mine  own  I 
Therefore  I  touched  my  front,  for  I  did  think 
That,  palpably,  I  felt  the  diadem 
Wreathing  its  golden  round  about  my  brow  ! 
But,  by  yon  heaven,  scarce  do  I  feel  more  joy  , 
In  climbing  up  to  empire,  than  I  do 
In  knowing  thee  my  dupe  I 
Col.    I  know,  my  lord. 
You  bade  me  kill  the  king. 


Scene  I.] 


EYADNE. 


61 


Lud.    And  since  thou  hast  «lain  him, 
Know  more — 'twas  I  that  first  within  his  heart 
Lighted  impurity  ; — 'twas  I,  Colonnn, — 
Hear  it — 'twas  I  that  did  persuade  the  king 
To  ask  thy  sister's  honour,  as  the  price 
Of  thine  accorded  life  ! 

Col    You  ?— 

Lud.    Would'st  hear  more  ? 
To-morrow  sees  me  king  !  I  have  already 
Prepared  three  thousand  of  my  followers 
To  call  me  to  the  throne — and  when  I  am  there, 
I'll  try  thee  for  the  murdering  of  the  king, — 
And  then — What,  ho,  there  !    Guards  ! — then,  my  good 
lord, 

When  the  good  trenchant  axe  hath  struck  away 
That  dull  and  passionate  head  of  thine — What,  to  !— 

Enter  Officer  and  eight  Guards,  r. 

I'll  take  the  fair  Evadne  to  mine  arms, 
And  thus — 

On  yonder  traitor  seize  ! — 

With  sacrilegious  hand,  he  has  ta'en  away 

The  consecrated  life  of  majesty, 

And— 

The  King  comes  forward  in  c,  r.  u.  e. 

What  do  I  behold  ?  is  not  my  sense 

Mocked  with  this  horrid  vision, 

That  hath  started  up 

To  make  an  idiot  of  me  ? — is  it  not 

The  vapour  of  the  senses  that  has  framed 

The  only  spectacle  that  ever  yet 

Appalled  Ludovico  ? 

King.    Behold  thy  king  ! 

Lud.    He  lives  ! — I  am  betrayed — but  let  me  not 
Play  traitor  to  myself  : — befriend  me  still, 
Thou  guarding  genius  of  Ludovico  ! 
My  liege,  my  royal  master,  do  I  see  you 
Safe  from  the  plots  of  yon  accursed  traitor  ? 
And  throwing  thus  myself  around  your  knees, 
Do  I  clasp  reality  ? 

King.    Traitor,  arise  ! 


62 


EVADNE. 


[Act  Y. 


Nor  dare  pollute  my  garment  with  a  touch  ! 
I  know  thee  for  a  villain  ! — Seize  him,  Guards  ! 

LiuL.  (Drawing  his  sword.)  By  this  right  arm,  they  dare  ' 
not — this  right  arm, 
That  to  the  battle  oft  hath  led  them  on, 
Who.se  power  to  kill  they  know,  but  would  not  feel  ! — 
I  am  betrayed — but  who  will  dare  to  leap 
Into  the  pit  wherein  the  lion's  caugnt, 
And  hug  with  him  for  death  ?    Not  one  of  this  w 
Vile  herd  of  trembling  wretches  ! 
(  To  King.)  Thou  art  meet  alone  to  encounter  me, 
And  thus,  in  the  wild  bravery  of  despair, 
I  rush  into  thy  life  ! 

[Colonna  intercepts  and  stabs  him — he  falls. 
Colonna,  thou  hast  conquered. 
Oh,  that  I  could, 

Like  an  expiring  dragon,  spit  upon  you  ! — 
That  I  could — thus  I  fling  the  drops  of  life 
In  showers  of  poison  on  you — May  it  fall 
Like  Centaur-blood,  and  fester  you  to  madness  ! 
Oh  !  that  I  could — 

[Grasps  his  sword,  and,  in  an  effort  to  rise,  dies. —  Shouts 

Without,  R.  U.  E. 

(Voices  without.)  Vicentio  1    The  lord  Yicentio  ! 

Enter  Vicentio,  r. — Evadne,  as  she  comes  forward,  utters 
a  shriek  of  joy,  and  rushes  to  his  arms. 

Vic.    And  do  I  clasp  thee  thus  ?     Oh,  joy  unlooked-for  !  ■ 
Eva.  Vicentio  !  my  brother,  too  ! 
King.    Thou  hast  a  second  time  preserved  thy  prince  !. 
Fair  Evadne, 

We  will  repair  our  injuries  to  thee, 
And  wait,  in  all  the  pomp  of  royalty, 
Upon  the  sacred  day  that  gives  thy  hand 
To  thy  beloved  Vicentio  ! 

Col.    And  the  nuptials 
Shall  at  the  pedestal  be  solemnized, 
Of  our  great  father  ! 

Eva.    And  ever,  as  in  this  blest  moment,  may 
His  guardian  spirit,  with  celestial  love, 
Spread  its  bright  wings  to  shelter  us  from  ill, 


Scene  I.]  evadne.  63 

With  nature's  tenderest  feelings  looking  down, 
Benignant  on  the  fortunes  of  his  child  1 

the  end. 

Disposition  of  the  Characters  at  the  full  of  the  Curtain. 


MASSEY'S 

EXHIBITION  RECITER 

DRAWING/ROOmTnTERTAINMENTS.' 

Being  choice  recitations  in  prose  and  verse,  together  with  an  unique 
collection  of 

PETITE  COMEDIES,  DRAMAS  AND  FARCES, 

ADAPTED  FOR  THE  USE  OF  SCHOOLS  AND  FAMILIES, 
BY  CHAKLES  MASSEY, 

Professor  of  Elocution  at  Burlington  College,  N.  J.,  and  Mechanics' 
Society  School,  N.  Y. 


No.  1  Contains, 
Guy  Fawkes,  an  "  Historic;! I  Drama." 
The  Man  With  the  Carpet  Bag,  "Farce." 
White  Horse  of  the  Peppers,  "  Comic 

Drama." 
Mesmerism,  "Petite  Comedy," 
And  Twelve  selected  pieces. 


No.  2  Contains, 
Love  and  Jealousy,  '  Tragedy." 
The  Irish  Tutor,  "  Farce." 
Bombastes  Furioso,  "Burlesque  Opera." 
Sylvester  Daggerwood,  "Comic  Inter- 
lude." 

School  for  Orators,  "  Original  Comedy," 
And  Fighleen  selected  pieces. 
Price  per  Number,  Paper  Covers,  25  Cents  each. 
The  Two  Numbers,  bound  in  Cloth,  school  style,  GO  Cents. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  number  of  voluminous  school  readers,  and 
speakers,  that  have  already  been  published,  there  still  exists  a  want, 
which  is  felt  by  all  who  delight  in  the  practice  of  recitation,  viz  :  a  col- 
lection of  humorous  and  pathetic  pieces,  in  prose  and  verse,  exactly 
suitable  for  school  exhibitions,  and  social  entertainment  ;  this  want  has 
compelled  the  compiler,  during  a  long  course  of  teaching,  to  devote  con- 
siderable time  in  gleaning  from  innumerable  sources,  for  the  especial 
use  of  his  own  pupils,  such  pieces  as  are  best  calculated  to  please  both 
the  reciter  and  the  audience  ;  and  he  believes  that  the  result  of  his 
labor  will  be  acceptable  to  those  who  wish  to  practice  the  important  art 
of  elocution,  either  for  amusement  or  emolument.  The  dramatic  pieces 
will  be  found  quite  an  original  feature,  inasmuch  as  they  are  not  mere 
extracts,  or  mutilated  scenes  ;  but  although  in  some  instances,  consider- 
ably altered  from  the  originals,  they  still  retain  an  entire  plot,  and  all 
the  wit  and  humor  that  could  consistently  be  preserved  ;  and  are  ar- 
ranged, and  adapted  especially  for  juvenile  representation — everything 
objectionable  has  been  carefullv  expunged,  and  they  have  in  their  pre- 
sent form  received  the  unqualified  approbation  of  numerous  intellectual 
and  select  audiences,  before  whom  tbey  have  been  presented  by  the 
pupils  of  the  adapter. — Extract  from  the  Author's  Preface 

§.  FRENCH, 

Publisher,  121  Nassau- street.  New  York. 
IVJESOjV  &  PIIOTIVEY, 

321  Broadway,  New  York. 
S.  €.  GRIGGS  &  CO., 

Chicago,  III. 


No.  IX 

FRENCH'S  STANDARD  DRAMA 


THE    STRANGE  Re 

51  J?la2. 


IN  FIVE  ACTS. 


B\  AUGUSTUS  FREDERIC  FERDINAND  VON 
KOTZEBUE. 


With  itacc  directions,  and  costumes,  markec  and  coaiEcrsa 

BY  f.  B.  ADDIS,  PROMPTER. 


NEW-YORK : 
SAMUEL  FRENCH, 

121  NASSAU-STREET. 
PRICE,  in  CENTS. 


CAST    OF  CHARACTERS. 


ITJie  Stranger  

Baron  Strin/ort   

Count  Winter ten  .................... 

Mr.  Solomon   

Peter  

Francis  

Tobias  

George  

Count's  Son  (Jive  years  old)  

Stranger's  Son,  do.   

Mrs.  Holler  

Countess  Wintersen  

Charlotte  

Annette  

Claudine  

Stranger's  Daughter  (four  years  old)  .. 


Drury  Lane,  1826. 


Par  t, 
Sir.  G.Vandenhoft 

44  Dyott. 


BIr.  Ke.ni. 
44  Archer. 
"  Mercer. 


"  Bland. 

44  Bass. 

u  Fisher. 

44  Barry. 


Terry. 


44  Harley. 

44  PowelL 

"  Penley. 

"  Povey. 


44  Anderson. 
■  Gallot. 
Master  J  ones. 
Master  House. 


Master  I.  Carr. 
Master  J.  Carr. 


Mrs.  West 
*'  Orger. 
*  Hughe*. 


44  Knight. 
Miss  Wilkin*. 
Miss  Burrows, 
Miss  King. 


Mrs.  Mowatt. 
44  Abbott. 


Miss  Povey. 
Miss  Cubit. 


Susan,  Servants,  Dancers,  tfe. 


COSTUMES. 


STRANGER. — Dark  grey  doublet  and  pantaloons  trimmed  with  black  velvet,  boots 

and  slouch  hat. 

BARON  STEINFORT. — White  body  and  pantaloons,  with  scarlet  hussar  cloak 
and  sleeves,  hanging  over  one  shoulder,  the  whole  trimmed  with  gold  lace;  hes- 
siun  boots,  cap  and  feathers. 

COUNT  WINTERSEN. — A  green  dress  of  the  same  make. 

SOLOMON. — Brown  coat,  scarlet  embroidered  waistcoat,  black  velvet  breeches, 

striped  stockings,  shoes,  buckles,  full  curled  powdered  wig. — Second  dress :  flow 

ered  silk  suit  and  white  stockings. 
FRANCIS. — Drab-coloured  doublet  and  pantaloons,  russet  boots,  and  round  cap. 
PETER. — White  cotton  body,  grey  fly  and  trunks,  blue  stockings,  russet  shoes, 

small  round  white  hat,  broad  shirt  collar.—  Second  dress :  Flowered  silk  suit  and 

white  stockings. 

TOBIAS. — Dark  drab  or  grey  body,  with  trunks  of  same,  blue  stockings,  cap,  and 

6hoes. 

COUNT'S  SON.— Light  blue  suit,  silver  buttons  and  sash,  while  stockings,  shoes, 

and  cap. 

WILLIAM  (the  Stranger's  Son.)  —  Buff-coloured  dress,  white  stockings,  shoes, 

sash,  and  cap. 

GEORGE. — Drab  or  grey  jerkin  and  trunks,  blue  stockings  and  shoes. 

MRS.  HALLER. — Neat  white  muslin  dress,  very  plainly  trimmed,  white  lace  bead 

dress,  confined  in  the  centre  of  the  forehead,  and  falling  over  the  shoulders. 
COUNTESS. — Travelling  pelisse,  hat  and  tassel.— Second  dress:    White  satin 

richiy  trimmed. 

CHARLOTTE.— Blue  or  pink  body  and  white  muslin  petticoat,  trimmed  with  tin 
,  same  colour  as  the  body. 


EXITS  AND  ENTRANCES. 
R.  means  Right;   L.  Left;  R.  D.  Right  Door;  L.  D.  Left  Door 
8.  E.  Seco-id  Entrance;  U.  E.  Upper  Entrance;  M.  D.  Middle  Door 

RELATIVE  POSITIONS. 
R.,  means  Right;  L.,  Left;  C,  Centre;  R.  C,  Right  of  Cent't 
L.  O,  Left  of  Centre. 

H.B  Passages  marJUd  toitk  Inverted  Commas,  are  usually  omitted  m  tit 
reprssrttation. 


THE  STRANGER 


AC  T  I. 

Scene  I. — The  skirts  of  Count  Wintersen's  park.  —  The  park 
gates  in  the  centre. — On  the  it.  side,  a  low  lodge  among  the 
trees. — On  the  l.,  in  the  back-ground,  a  Peasant's  hut. 

Enter  Peter,  l. 

Pet.  Pooh  !  pooh  ! — never  tell  me. — I'm  a  clever  lad, 
for  all  father's  crying  out  every  minute,  "  Peter,"  and 
u  stupid  Peter  !"  But  I  say,  Peter  is  not  stupid,  though 
father  will  always  be  so  wise.  First,  I  talk  too  much ; 
then  I  talk  too  little  ;  and  if  I  talk  a  bit  to  myself,  he  calls 
me  a  driveller.  Now  I  like  best  to  talk  to  myself ;  for  I 
never  contradict  myself,  and  I  don't  laugh  at  myself  as 
other  folks  do.  That  laughing  is  often  a  plaguy  teazing 
custom.  To  be  sure,  when  Mrs.  Haller  laughs,  one  can 
bear  it  well  enough  ;  there  is  a  sweetness  even  in  her  re- 
proof, that  somehow — But,  lud  !  I  had  near  forgot  what 
I  was  sent  about. — Yes,  then  they  would  have  laughed  at 
me  indeed. — [Draws  a  green  purse  from  his  pocket.] — I  am 
to  carry  this  money  to  old  Tobias  ;  and  Mrs.  Haller  said,  I 
must  be  sure  not  to  blab,  or  say  that  she  had  sent  it.  Well, 
well,  she  may  be  easy  for  that  matter;  not  a  word  shall 
drop  from  my  lips.  Mrs.  Haller  is  charming,  but  silly,  if 
father  is  right ;  for  father  says,  "  He  that  spends  his  money 
is  not  wise,"  but  "  he  that  gives  it  away,  is  stark  mad." 

[Going  up  to  the  Hut,  l.  u.  e. 


8 


THE  STRANGER. 


[Act  I 


Enter  the  Stranger  from  the  Lodge,  r.  u.  e.  followed  hp 
Franc  rs. — Jit  sight  of  Peter,  the  Stranger  stops,  looks  sus- 
piciously at  him.  Peter  stands  opposite  to  him,  with  his 
mouth  wide  open.  At  length  he  takes  off  his  hat,  scrapes  a 
bow,  and  goes  into  the  Hut,  L.  u.  e. 

Stra.  Who  is  that  1 
Fra.  The  steward's  son. 
Stra.  Of  the  Castle] 
Fra.  Yes. 

Stra.  [After  a  pausc.\  You  were — you  were  speaking 
last  night — 

Fra.  Of  the  old  countryman  1 
Stra.  Ay. 

Fra.  You  would  not  hear  me  out. 

Stra.  Proceed. 
Fra.  He  is  poor. 
Stra,  Who  told  you  so  ] 
Fra.  Himself. 

Stra.  Ay,  ay  ;  he  knows  how  to  tell  his  story,  no  doubt 

Fra.  And  to  impose,  you  think  1 
Stra.  Right! 
Fra.  This  man  does  not. 
Stra.  Fool! 

Fra.  A  feeling  fool  is  better  than  a  cold  skeptic. 
Stra.  False  ! 

Fra.  Charity  begets  gratitude. 
Stra.  False  ! 

Fra.  And  blesses  the  giver  more  than  the  receiver 
Stra.  True. 

Fra.  Well,  sir.    This  countryman — 
Stra.  Has  he  complained  to  you  ] 
Fra.  Yes. 

Stra.  He  who  is  really  unhappy,  never  complaint 
[Pauses.]  Francis,  you  have  had  means  of  education  be 
yond  your  lot  in  life,  and  hence  you  are  encouraged  to  at 
tempt  imposing  on  me  : — but  go  on. 

Fra.  His  only  son  has  been  taken  from  him. 

Stra.  Taken  from  him  1 

Fra.  By  the  exigency  of  the  time3,  for  a  soldier. 
Stra.  Ay  ! 

Fra.  The  old  man  :s  poor. 


SCEITE  I.] 


THE  STRANGE* 


9 


Stra.  'Tis  liX?ly. 
Fra.  Sick  and  forsaken. 
Stra.  I  cannot  help  him. 
Fra.  Yes. 
Stra.  How  1 

Fra.  By  money.    He  may  Luy  his  son's  release. 
Stra.  I'll  see  him  myself. 
Fra.  Do  so. 

Stra.  But  if  he  is  an  impostor ! — 
Fra.  He  is  not. 
Stra.  In  that  hut  ] 

Fra.  In  that  hut.  [Stranger  goes  into  tlie  lint,  l.  u.  e.] 
A  good  master,  though  one  almost  loses  the  use  of  speech 
by  living  with  him.  A  man  kind  and  clear — though  I 
cannot  understand  him.  He  rails  against  the  whole  world, 
and  yet  no  beggar  leaves  his  door  unsatisfied.  I  have  inw 
lived  three  years  with  him,  and  yet  I  know  not  who  he  is. 
A  hater  of  society,  no  doubt ;  but  not  by  Providence  in- 
tended to  be  so.  Misanthropy  in  his  head,  not  in  his 
heart. 

Enter  Peter  and  the  Stranger  from  the  Hut,  l.  u.  e. 
Pet.  Pray  walk  on. 

Stra.  [To  Francis.]  Fool !  [Crosses  to  Francis. 

So  soon  returned  ! 

Stra.  What  should  I  do  there  ] 
Fra.  Did  you  find  it  as  I  said  1 
Stra.  This  lad  I  found. 

Fra.  What  has  he  to  do  with  your  charity  ? 
Stra.  The  old  man  and  he  understand  each  other  pei- 
fectly  well.  (Crosses  to  r. 

Fra.  How  1 

Stra.  What  were  this  boy  and  the  countryman  doing  ] 
Fra.  [Smiling,  and  shaking  his  head.\  Well,  you  shall 

hear.  [To  Peter.]   Young  man,  what  were  you  doing  in 

that  hut? 

Pet.  Doing  ! — Nothing, 

Fra.  Well,  but  you  could  r^t  go  there  for  nothing? 

Pet.  And  why  not,  pray  ] — But  I  did  go  there  for  no 
thing,  though. — Do  you  think  one  must  be  paid  for  every, 
thing  ] — If  Mrs.  Haller  were  to  give  me  but  a  smiling  look, 
I'd  jump  up  to  my  neck  in  the  great  pond  for  nothirg. 


10 


THE  STRANGER. 


[Act  1 


Fra.  it  seems  then  Mrs,  Haller  sent  you  1 
Pet.  Yes  she  did — But  I'm  not  to  mention   t  to  any- 
oody. 

Fra.  Why  so  ? 

Pet.  How  should  I  know  ]  "  Look  you,"  says  Mrs. 
Haller,  "  Master  Peter,  be  so  good  as  not  to  mention  it  to 
anybody,"  [  With  ?rucck  consequence  ]  "  Master  Peter,  be 
bo  good" — Hi !  hi !  hi ! — "  Master  Peter,  be  so" — Hi ! 
hi!  hi!— 

Fra.  Oh!  that  is  quite  a  different  thing.  Of  course  you 
must  be  silent  then. 

Pet.  I  know  that ;  and  so  I  am  too.  For  I  said  to  old 
Tobias — says  I,  "  Now,  you're  not  to  think  as  how  Mrs. 
Haller  sent  this  money  ;  for  she  told  me  not  to  say  a,  word 
about  that  as  long  as  I  live,"  says  I. 

Fra.  There  you  were  very  right.  Did  you  carry  him 
much  money  1 

Pet.  I  don't  know  ;  I  did'nt  count  it.  It  was  in  a  bit  of 
a  green  purse.  Mayhap  it  may  be  some  little  matter  that 
she  has  scraped  together  in  the  last  fortnight  1 

Fra.  And  why  just  in  the  last  fortnight. 

Pet.  Because  about  a  fortnight  since,  I  carried  him 
some  money  before. 

Fra   From  Mrs.  Holler] 

Pet.  Ay,  sure;  who  else,  think  you  ?  Father's  not  such 
a  fool.  He  says  it  i«  our  bounden  duty  as  Christians,  to 
take  care  of  our  w>r\*»y,  and  not  give  anything  away,  espe- 
cially in  snra»rer  •,  for  then,  says  he,  there's  herbs  and 
roots  enough  in.  conscience  to  satisfy  all  the  reasonable 
hungry  poor.  Bvt  I  say,  father's  wrong,  and  Mrs.  Haller 
right, 

Fra.  Yes,  y«33» — But  this  Mrs.  Haller  seems  a  strange 
woman,  Pete"  1 

Pet.  Ay,  Pit  times  she  ;s  plaguy  odd.  Why  she  II  sit 
and  cry  you  a  whole  day  i  trough,  without  any  one  know- 
ing why,  or  wherefore.  And  somehow  or  other,  whenever 
she  cries  I  always  cry  too — without  knowing  whj  or  where- 
fore. 

Fra.  [To  the  Stranger.]  Are  you  satisfied  1 
Stra,  Rid  me  of  that  babbler. 
Fra.  Good  day,  Master  Peter. 


SCEVB  I.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


11 


Pet.  You're  not  going  yet,  are  you  1 
Fra.  Mrs.  Haller  will  be  waiting  for  an  answer. 
Pet.  So  she  will.    And  I  have  another  place  or  t  jvo  to 
call  at.  [Takes  off  his  hat  to  the  Stranger.]  Servant,  sir  ! 
Stra.  Pshaw  ! 

Pet.  Pshaw!  What — he's  angry.  [Peter  turns  to  Fran 
as  in  a  half  whisper.}  He's  angry,  I  suppose,  because  he 
can  get  nothing  out  of  me. 

Fra.  It  almost  seems  so. 

Pet.  Ay,  I'd  have  him  to  know  I'm  no  blab  !    [Exit.  t.. 

Fra.  Now,  Sir ! 

Stra.  What  do  you  want  1 

Fra.  Were  you  not  wrong,  sir  1 

Stra.  Hem  !    Wrong  ]  [  Crosses,  l. 

Fra.  Can  you  still  doubt  ] 

Stra.  I'll  hear  no  more  !  Who  is  this  Mrs.  Haller  1 
Why  do  I  always  follow  her  path]  Go.  where  I  will,  when- 
ever I  try  to  do  good,  she  has  always  been  before  me. 

Fra.  You  should  rejoice  at  that. 

Stra.  Rejoice! 

Fra.  Surely  !   that  there  are  other  good  and  charitable 
people  in  the  world  beside  yourself. 
Stra.  Oh,  yes  ! 

Fra.  Why  not  seek  to  be  acquainted  with  her  ]  I  saw 
her  yesterday  in  the  garden  up  at  the  Castle.  Mr.  Solo- 
mon, the  steward,  says  she  has  been  unwell,  and  confined 
to  her  room  almost  ever  since  we  have  been  here.  But 
one  would  not  think  it  to  look  at  her ;  for  a  more  beauti- 
ful creature  I  never  saw. 

Stra.  So  much  the  worse.    Beauty  is  a  mask. 

Fra.  In  her  it  seems  a  mirror  of  the  soul.  Her  chari- 
ties  

Stra.  Talk  not  to  me  of  her  charities.  All  women  wish 
to  be  conspicuous  : — in  town  by  their  wit ;  in  the  country 
r»y  their  heart. 

Fra.  'Tis  immaterial  in  what  way  good  is  done. 

Stra.  No  ;  'tis  not  immaterial. 

Ft  a.  To  this  poor  old  man,  at  least. 

Stra.  He  needs  no  assistance  of  mine. 

Fra.  His  most  urgent  wants,  indeed,  Mrs.  Haller  may 
lave  relieved  ;  but  whether  she  has,  or  could  have  given 
as  much  as  would  purchase  liberty  for  the  son,  the  prop  of 
his  age — 


12 


THE  STRANGER 


i  Act  I 


Sfra.  Silence  !  I  will  not  give  him  a  doit  ]  \Crosses,  r.] 
Vou  interest  yourself  very  warmly  in  his  behalf.  Perhaps 
you  are  to  be  a  sharer  in  the  gift. 

Fra.  Sir,  sir,  that  did  not  come  from  your  heart. 

Stra.  \Rerttttectjmg  himself  *J  Forgive  jne  ! 

Fra.  My  poor  master  !  How  must  the  world  have  ased 
you,  before  it  could  have  instilled  this  hatred  of  mankind, 
this  constant  doubt  of  honesty  and  virtue! 

Stra.  Leave  me  to  myself! 
[  Throws  himself  on  a  seat,  r.  u.  e.  ;   fakes  from  his  pocket 
"  Zimmerman  on  Solitude"  and  reads. 

Fra.  [Aside,  surveying  him.]  Again  reading  !  Thus  it 
is  from  morning  till  night.  To  him  nature  has  no  beauty  ; 
life  no  charm.  For  three  years  I  have  never  seen  him 
smile.  [Tobias  enters  from  the  hut.]  What  will  be  his  fate 
at  last  ?  Nothing  diverts  him.  Oh,  if  he  would  but  at- 
tach himself  to  any  living  thing  !  Were  it  but  an  ani- 
mal— for  something  man  must  love. 

Tobias  advances,  l. 

Tob.  Oh  !  how  refreshing,  after  seven  long  weeks,  to 
feel  these  warm  sun-beams  once  again  !  Thanks  !  thanks  ! 
bounteous  Heaven,  for  the  joy  I  taste. 

[Presses  his  cap  between  his  hands,  looks  up  and  prays.-" 
[The  Stranger  observes  him  attentively. 

Fra.  [To  the  Stranger.]  This  old  man's  share  of  earthly 
happiness  can  be  but  little  ;  yet  mark  how  grateful  he  is 
for  his  portion  of  it. 

Stra.  Because,  though  old,  he  is  but  a  child  in  the  lead- 
ing strings  of  Hope. 

Fra.  Hope  is  the  nurse  of  life. 

Stra.  And  her  cradle  is  the  grave. 

[Tobias  replaces  his  cap. — Francis  crosses  beliind  to  i,. 

Fr  i.  I  wish  you  joy.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  are  so  much 
recovered. 

Tob.  Thank  you.    Heaven,  and  the  assistance  of  a  kind 
lady,  have  saved  me  for  another  year  or  two. 
Fra.  How  old  are  you,  pray  1 

Tob.  Fourscore  and  four.  To  be  sure,  I  can  expect  but 
little  joy  before  I  die.  Yet,  there  is  another  and  a  better 
world. 

Fra.  To  the  unfortunate,  then,  death  is  scarce  an  evil ' 


•CEWE  I.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


13 


Tob.  And  am  T  so  unfortunate?  Do  I  no:  enjoy  this 
glorious  morning  ?  Am  I  not  in  health  again  ]  Believe 
me,  sir,  he,  who,  leavmg  the  bed  of  sickness,  for  the  first 
time  breathes  the  fresh  pure  air,  is,  at  that  moment,  the 
happiest  of  his  Maker's  creatures. 

Fra.  Yet  'tis  a  happiness  that  fails  upon  enjoyment. 

'Fob.  True  ;  but  less  so  in  old  age.  Some  sixty  years 
ago,  my  father  left  me  this  cottage.  I  was  a  strong  lad  ; 
and  took  an  honest  wife.  Heaven  blessed  my  farm  with 
rich  crops,  and  my  marriage  with  five  children.  This  last- 
ed nine  or  ten  years.  Two  of  my  children  died.  I  felt  it 
sorely.  The  land  was  afflicted  with  a  famine.  My  wife 
assisted  me  in  supporting  our  family  ;  but  four  years  after 
she  left  our  dwelling  for  a  better  place.  And  of  my  five 
children,  only  one  son  remained.  This  was  blow  upon 
blow.  It  was  long  before  I  regained  my  fortitude.  At 
length,  resignation  and  religion  had  their  effect.  I  again 
attached  myself  to  life.  My  son  grew,  and  helped  me  in 
my  work.  Now  the  State  has  called  him  away  to  bear  a 
musket.  This  is  to  me  a  loss  indeed.  I  can  work  no  more. 
I  am  old  and  weak  ;  and  true  it  is,  but  for  Mrs.  Haller,  I 
must  have  perished. 

Fra.  Still,  then,  life  has  cnarms  for  you  1 

Tob.  Why  not,  while  the  world  holds  anything  that's 
dear  to  me  ?    Have  not  I  a  son  ] 

Fra.  Who  knows  that  you  will  ever  see  him  more  1  He 
may  be  dead. 

Tub.  Alas  !  he  mav.  But  as  lon£?  as  I  am  not  sure  of 
it,  he  lives  to  me.  And,  if  he  falls,  'tis  in  his  country's 
cause.  Nay,  should  I  lose  him,  still  I  should  not  wish  to 
die.  Here  is  the  hut  in  which  I  was  born.  Here  is  the 
tree  that  grew  with  me  ;  and,  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  con- 
fess it — I  have  a  dog  which  I  love. 

[Stranger  rises  and  advances,  r. 

Fra.  A  dog  ! 

Tob.  Yes  ! — Smile,  if  you  please  :  but  hear  me.  My 
benefactress  mce  came  to  my  hut  herself,  some  time  be- 
fore you  fixi  I  here.  The  poor  animal,  unused  to  see  the 
form  of  elet  mce  and  beauty  enter  the  door  of  penury, 
prowled  at  ht-r. — "  I  wonder  you  keep  that  surly,  ugly  ani- 
mal, Mr.  Tobias,"  said  she  ;  "  you  who  have  hardly  food 
enough  for  yourself." — "  Ah,  madam,"  I  replied,  "  and  it 


14 


THE  STRANGER. 


fAcrl 


I  part  with  him,  are  you  sure  that  anything  else  will  love 

me?" — She  was  pleased  with  my  answer, 

Fra,  [To  Stranger.]  Excuse  me,»sir;  but  I  wish  you 
had  listened. 

Stra.  I  have  listened.  [Crosses,  c. 

Fra.  Then  sir,  I  wish  you  would  follow  this  poor  old 
man's  example. 

Stra.  Here ;  take  this  book  and  lay  it  on  my  desk. 
[  Francis  goes  into  the  Lodge  with  the  book.]  How  much  has 
this  Mrs.  Haller  given  you  ? 

Tab.  Oh,  sir,  she  has  given  me  so  much  that  I  can  look 
towards  winter  without  fear. 

Stra.  No  more  1 

Tub.  What  could  I  do  with  more  1 — Ah  !  true  ;  I 
might — 

Stra.  I  know  it. — You  might  buy  your  son's  release. — 
There  !  [Presses  a  purse  into  his  hand,  and  exit,  r. 

Tub.  What's  all  this?  [Opens  the  purse,  and  finds  it  full 
of  gold.]  Merciful  heaven  ! 

Enter  Francis  from  the  Lodge,  just  in  time  to  see  the  Stran- 
ger give  the  purse. 

— Now  look,  sir  :  is  confidence  in  Heaven  unrewarded  1 
Fra.  I  wish  you  joy  !    My  master  gave  you  this  1 
Tab.  Yes,  your  noble  master.    Heaven  reward  him  ! 
Fra.  Just  like  him.    He  sent  me  with  his  book,  that  no 

one  might  be  witness  to  his  bounty. 

Tob.  He  would  not  even  take  my  thanks.    He  was  gone 

before  I  could  speak. 
Fra.  Just  his  way. 

Tob.  Now  I'll  go  as  quick  as  these  old  legs  will  bear  me. 
What  a  delightful  errand  !  I  go  to  release  my  Robert ! 
How  the  lad  will  rejoice  !  There  is  a  girl,  too,  in  the  vil- 
lage, that  will  rejoice  with  him,  O,  Providence,  how  good 
art  thou  !  [Exit,  l.  . 

Scene  II. — An  Antichamber  in  Winterscn  Castle. 
Enter  Susan,  r.  meeting  George,  l. 

Susan.  Why,  George  !  Harry  !  Where  have  you  been 
loitering  ?  Put  down  these  things.  Mrs.  Haller  has  bee» 
calling  for  you  this  half  hour. 


Bccicx  II.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


16 


Geo,  Well,  here  I  am,  then.  What  does  she  /var  t  with 
me  ] 

Susan.  That  she  will  tell  you  herself.    Here  she  comes 

Enter  Mrs.  Haller,  with  a  letter  :  Hannah  following t  vl. 

Mrs.  H.  Very  well ;  if  those  things  are  done,  let  the 
drawing  room  be  made  ready  immediately. — [Excun 
Maids,  R.j  And,  George,  run  immediately  into  the  park 
and  tell  Mr.  Solomon  I  wish  to  speak  with  him.  [Exi 
George,  L.l  I  cannot  understand  this.  I  do  not  learn 
whether  their  coming  to  this  place  be  but  the  whim  of  a 
moment,  or  a  plan  for  a  longer  stay  !  If  the  latter,  fare- 
well, solitude  !  Farewell,  study  !— farewell ! — Yes,  I  must 
make  room  for  gaiety,  and  mere  frivolity.  Yet  could  I 
willingly  submit  to  all  :  but  should  the  Countess  give  me 
new  proofs  of  her  attachment,  perhaps  of  her  respect,  Oh  ! 
how  will  my  conscience  upbraid  me  !  Or  if  this  seat  be 
visited  by  company,  and  chance  should  conduct  hither  any 
of  my  former  acquaintance — Alas  !  alas  !  bow  wretched 
is  the  being  who  fears  the  sight  of  any  one  fellow-creature  t 
But,  oh  !  superior  misery  !  to  dread  still  more  the  presence 
of  a  former  friend  ! — [Peter  knocks,  l.]  Who's  there  1 

Enter  Peter,  l. 

Pet.  N(  body.    It's  only  me. 
Mrs.  H.  So  soon  returned  1 

Pet.  Sh^rp  lad,  an't  I !    On  the  road  I've  had  a  bit  oi 

talk  too,  and — 

Mrs.  H.  But  you  have  observed  my  directions  1 

Pet.  Oh,  yes,  yes  : — I  told  old  Tobias  as  how  he  would 

never  know,  as  long  as  he  lived,  that  the  money  came  from 

you. 

Mrs.  H.  You  found  him  quite  recovered,  I  hope  1 
Pet.  Ay,  sure  did  I.    He's  coming  out  to-day,  for  the 
first  time. 

Mrs.  II.  I  rejoice  to  hear  it. 

Pet.  He  said  that  he  was  obliged  to  y<  u  for  all ;  and 
before  dinner  would  crawl  up  to  thank  you. 

Mrs.  H.  Good  Peter,  do  me  another  service. 

Pet.  Ay,  a  hundred,  if  you  '11  only  let  me  have  a  good 
long  stare  at  you. 

Mrs.  H.  With  all  my  heart !   Observe  when  old  Tobiai 


16 


THE  STKAKGER. 


[Act  I 


corr.es,  send  him  away.    Tell  him  I  am  busy,  or  asleep 
or  unwell,  or  what  you  please. 
Pet.  1  will,  1  will 

Sol.  [  Without.\  There,  there,  go  to  the  post-office. 

Mrs.  II.  Oh  !  here  comes  Mr.  Solomon. 

Pet.  What!  Father]  Ay,  so  there  is.  Father's  a 
main  clever  man  : — he  knows  what's  going  on  all  over  the 
world. 

Mrs.  H.  No  wonder;  for  you  know  he  receives  as  ma 
ny  letters  as  a  prime  minister  and  all  his  secretaries. 

Enter  Solomon,  l. — Peter  crosses  behind,  l. 

Sol.  Good  morning,  good  morning  to  you,  Mrs.  Haller. 
It  gives  me  infinite  pleasure  to  see  you  look  so  charmingly 
well.  You  have  had  the  goodness  to  send  for  your  hum- 
ble servant.  Any  news  from  the  Great  City  %  There  are 
very  weighty  matters  in  agitation.  1  have  had  my  let- 
ters, too. 

Mrs.  H.  (Smiling.)  I  think,  Mr.  Solomon,  you  must 
correspond  with  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe. 

Sol.  Beg  pardon,  not  with  the  whole  world,  Mrs.  Hal- 
ler ;  but,  [consequentially,]  to  be  sure,  I  have  correspond- 
ents, on  whom  1  can  rely,  in  the  chief  cities  of  Europe, 
Asia,  Africa,  and  America. 

Mrs.  H.  And  yet  I  have  my  doubts  whether  you  know 
what  is  to  happen  this  very  day,  at  this  very  place. 

Sol.  At  this  very  place !  Nothing  material.  We  meant 
to  have  sown  a  little  barley  to-day,  but  the  ground  is  too 
dry;  and  the  sheep-shearing  is  not  to  be  till  to-morrow. 

Pet.  No,  nor  the  buil-baiting  till — 

Sol.  Hold  your  tongue,  blockhead !     Get  about  your 

business. 

Pet.  Blockhead  !     There  again  !    I  suppose  I'm  not  to 
open  my  mouth.    [To  Mrs.  H.]    Good  bye  !   [Exit,  n. 
Mrs.  II.  The  Count  will  be  here  to-day. 
Sol.  How!  What! 

Mr.s.  II  With  his  lady,  and  his  brother -in-law,  Baron 
Sieinfort. 

Sol.  My  letters  say  nothing  of  this.  Ycu  are  laughing 
at  your  humble  servant. 

Mrs.  II.  You  know;  sir,  I'm  not  much  given  >  i  jesting 
Sol.  Peter!  (Crosses,  n.)   Good  lack-a-day  !    y]is  Righ 


SCEWB  II. J 


rHE  STRANGER 


i? 


Honourable  Excellency  the  Count  Wintcrsen,  and  Iier 
Ifonoural)le  Excellency  the  Countess  Wintersett,  and  hig 
Honourable  Lordship  Baron  Stein  fort, — and,  Lord  have 
mercy  !   nothing  in  proper  order  ! — Here,  Peter  '  Peter  ! 

Enter  Peter,  r. 

Pet.  Well,  now,  what's  the  matter  again  1 
Sol.  Call  all  the  house  together,  directly  !  Send  to  the 
gamekeeper  :  tell  him  to  bring  some  venison.  Tell  Re 
becca  to  uncase  the  furniture,  and  take  the  covering  from 
the  Venetian  looking-glasses,  that  her  Right  Honourable 
Ladyship  the  Countess  may  look  at  her  gracious  counte- 
nance ;  and  tell  the  cook  to  let  me  see  him  without  loss  of 
time  ;  and  tell  John  to  catch  a  brace  or  two  of  carp.  And 
tell — and  tell — and  tell — tell  Frederick  to  friz  my  Sunday 
wig.  Mercy  on  us — tell — There — Go!  [Exit  Peter,  n.j 
Heavens  and  earth  !  So  little  of  the  new  furnishing  of 
this  old  castle  is  completed  ! — Where  are  we  to  put  his 
Honourable  Lordship  the  Baron  ] 

Mrs.  H.  Let  him  have  the  little  chamber  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs  ;  it  is  a  neat  room,  and  commands  a  beautiful 
prospect. 

Sol.  Very  right,  very  right.  [Crosses,  L.]  But  that  room 
has  always  been  occupied  by  the  Count's  private  secretary. 
Suppose — Hold,  I  have  it!  You  know  the  little  lodge  at 
the  end  of  the  park  :  we  can  thrust  the  secretary  in  that. 

JSIrs.  H.  You  forget,  Mr.  Solomon  ;  you  told  me  that 
the  Stranger  lived  there. 

Sol.  Pshaw!  What  have  we  to  do  with  the  Stranger? 
Who  told  him  to  live  there  ?    He  must  turn  out. 

Mrs,  H.  That  would  be  unjust  ;  for  you  said  that  you 
let  the  dwelling  to  him,  and  by  your  own  account  he  pays 
well  for  it. 

Sol.  He  does,  he  does.  But  nobody  knows  who  he  is. 
The  devil  himself  can't  make  him  out.  To  be  sure,  I 
lately  received  a  letter  from  Spain,  which  informed  me 
that  a  spy  had  taken  up  his  abode  in  this  country,  and  from 
the  description — 

J\Irs.  II.  A  spy!  Ridiculous!  Everything!  have  heard 
bespeaks  him  to  be  a  man  who  may  be  allowed  to  dwell 
any  where.    His  life  is  solitude  and  silence. 

Sol.  So  k  is. 


18 


THE  STKANGER. 


Mrs.  II.  You  tell  me,  too,  he  does  much  good. 
Sol.  That  he  does. 

Mrs.  H.  He  hurts  nothing :  not  the  worm  in  his  way. 

Sol.  That  he  does  not. 

J\Irs.  II  He  troubles  no  one  1 

Sol.  True,  true  ! 

Mrs.  II.  Well,  what  do  you  want  more  ? 
Sol.  1  want  to  know  who  he  is.  If  the  man  would  only 
converse  a  little,  one  might  have  an  opportunity  of  pump- 
ing ;  but  if  one  meets  him  in  the  lime  walk,  or  by  the 
yiver,  it  is  nothing  but  "  Good  morrow ;"  and  off  he  mar- 
ches. Once  or  twice  I  have  contrived  to  edge  in  a  word  .• 
"  Fine  day" — "  Yes."  "  Taking  a  little  exercise,  I  per- 
ceive V — "  Yes" — and  off  again  like  a  shot.  The  devil 
take  such  close  fellows,  say  I.  And,  like  master  like  man 
— not  a  syllable  do  I  know  of  that  mumps,  his  servant,  ex- 
cept that  his  name  is  Francis. 

Mrs.  II.  You  are  putting  yourself  into  a  passion,  and 
quite  forget  who  are  expected. 

Sol.  So  1  do — mercy  on  us  !  There  now,  you  see  what 
misfortunes  arise  from  not  knowing  people. 

Mrs.  IJ.  'Tis  near  twelve  o'clock  !  If  his  lordship  has 
stolen  an  hour  from  his  usual  sleep,  the  family  must  soon 
be  here.  I  go  to  my  duty  :  you  will  attend  to  yours,  Mr. 
Solomon.  [Exit,  r. 

Sol.  Yes,  I'll  look  after  my  duty,  never  fear.  There 
goes  another  of  the  same  class.  Nobody  knows  who  she 
is,  again.  However,  thus  much  I  do  know  of  her,  that 
her  Right  Honourable  Ladyship  the  Countess,  all  at  once, 
popped  her  into  the  house,  like  a  blot  of  ink  upon  a  sheet 
of  paper;  but  why,  wherefore,  or  for  what  leason,  not  a 
soul  can  tell.  "  She  is  to  manage  the  family  within  doors." 
She  to  manage  !  Fire  and  faggots  !  Havn't  I  managed 
every  thing,  within  and  without,  most  reputably,  these 
twenty  years  1  I  must  own  I  grow  a  little  old,  and  she 
does  take  a  deal  of  pains  ;  but  all  this  she  learned  of  me. 
When  she  first  came  here — mercy  on  us  !  she  didn't  know 
that  linen  was  made  of  flax  !  But  what  was  to  be  expect- 
ed from  one  who  has  no  foreign  correspondence  1  [Exit,  u 


END  OF  ACT  1. 


fCKlTX  I.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


IS 


ACT  IT. 

Scene  I. — A  Drawing  Room  in  the  Cas:le,  with  Sofa  and 
Chairs. 

Enter  Solomon,  l. — Rural  music  heard  Z.  ivithout. 

Pet.  [Without,!,.]  Stop;  not  yet,  not  yet;  but  make 
way  there,  make  way,  my  good  friends,  tenants,  and  villa- 
gers.— John,  George,  Frederick  !  Good  friends,  make 
way. 

Sol.  It  is  not  the  Count :  its  only  Baron  Steinfort 
Stand  back,  I  say  ;  and  stop  the  music  ! 

Enter  Baron  Steinfort,  l.  ushered  in  by  Peter,  who  mi- 

micks  and  apes  his  father. 

I  have  the  honour  to  introduce  to  your  lordship  myself, 
Mr.  Solomon,  who  blesses  the  hour  in  which  fortune  al- 
lows him  to  become  acquainted  with  the  Honorable  Baron 
Steinfort,  [Baron  passes  Solomon  and  throws  himself  on  the 
Sofa,]  brother-in-law  of  his  Right  Honourable  Excellency 
Count  Wintersen,  my  noble  master. 

Pet.  Bless  our  noble  master  !        [Peter  is  on  r.  of  sofa. 

Bar.  Old  and  young,  I  see  they'll  allow  me  no  peace. 
Enough,  enough,  good  Mr.  Solomon,  I  am  a  sol- 
dier. I  pay  but  few  compliments,  and  require  as  few  from 
others. 

Sol.  I  beg  pardon,  my  lord — We  do  live  in  the  country 
to  be  sure,  but  we  are  acquainted  with  the  reverence  due 
to  exalted  personages.  [Sitting  beside  the  Baron,  l. 

Pet.  Yes — We  are  acquainted  with  exalted  personages. 

Bar.  What  is  to  become  of  me  1 — Well,  well,  I  hope 
we  shall  become  better  acquainted.  You  must  know,  Mr. 
Solomon,  I  intend  to  assist,  for  a  couple  of  months  at  least, 
in  attacking  the  well  stocked  cellars  of  Wintersen. 

Sol.  Why  not  whole  years,  my  lord  1 — Inexpressible 
would  be  the  satisfaction  of  your  humble  servant.  And, 
though  I  say  it,  well-stocked  indeed  are  our  cellars.  ] 
have,  in  every  respect,  here,  managed  matters  in  so  frugal 
and  provident  a  way,  that  his  Right  Honorable  Excellency 
the  Count  will  be  astonished.  [Baron  yawns.]  Extremely 
Borry  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  enter  lain  your  lordship 

Pet.  Extremely  sorry. 


20 


THE  STRANGER. 


[Ac*  II 


Sol.  Where  can  Mrs.  Haller  havoliid  heiself  ] 
Bar.  Mrs.  Haller  !     Who  is  she  1 

Sol.  W  hy,  who  she  is,  1  can't  exactly  tell  your  lordship. 
Pet.  No,  nor  t. 

Sol.  None  of  my  correspondents  give  any  account  of 
her.  She  is  here  in  the  capactity  of  a  kind  of  a  supeii-or 
housekeeper.  Methinks  1  hear  her  silver  voice  upon  the 
stairs.  [Crosses  n.,  Peter  crosses  behind  to  l.]  I  will  have 
the  honour  of  sending  her  to  your  lordship  in  an  instant. 

Bar.  Oh  !  don't  trouble  yourself. 

Sol.  No  trouble  whatever!  I  remain,  at  all  times,  your 
honorable  lordship's  most  obedient,  humble,  and  devoted 
servant.  [Exit,  bowing,  it. 

Pet.  Devoted  servant.  [Exit,  bowing,  l. 

Bar.  Now  for  a  fresh  plague.  Now  am  I  to  be  tor- 
mented by  some  chattering  old  ugly  hag,  till  I  am  stunned 
with  her  noise  and  officious  hospitality.  O,  patience ! 
what  a  virtue  art  thou  ! 

Enter  Mrs.  Haller,  r.  with  a  courtsey  ;   Baron  rises,  and 
returns  a  bow  in  confusion. 

[Aside.]  No,  old  she  is  not.  [Casts  another  glance  at  7icr.\ 
No,  by  Jove,  nor  ugly. 

Mrs.  H.  I  rejoice,  my  lord,  in  thus  becoming  acquainted 
with  the  brother  of  my  benefactress. 

Bar.  Madam,  that  tide  shall  be  doubly  valuable  to  me, 
since  it  gives  me  an  introduction  equally  to  be  rejoiced  at. 

Mrs.  II.  [  Without  attending  to  the  compliment.]  This 
lovely  weather,  then,  has  enticed  tb*1  Count  from  the  city. 

Bar.  Not  exactly  that.  You  know  him.  Sunshine  or 
clouds  are  to  him  alike,  as  long  as  eternal  summer  reigns 
in  his  own  heart  and  family. 

Airs.  H.  The  Count  possesses  a  most  cheerful  and  ami- 
able philosophy.  Ever  in  the  same  happy  humor;  ever 
enjoying  each  minute  of  his  life.  But  you  must  confess., 
my  lord,  that  he  is  a  favourite  child  of  fortune,  and  has 
much  to  be  grateful  to  her  for.  Not  merely  because  she 
has  given  him  birth  and  riches,  but  for  a  native  sweetness 
of  temper,  never  to  be  acquired  ;  and  a  grace:f,l  suavity 
of  manners,  whose  school  must  be  the  mind.  A»  d,  need 
I  enumerate  among  fortune's  favours,  the  hand  and  flec- 
tions of  your  accomplehed  sister] 


SCEKX  I.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


21 


Bar.  [More  and  more  struck.]  True,  madam.  My  good 
fcftsy  brother,  too,  seems  sensible  of  liis  happiness,  and  is 
resolved  to  retain  it.  He  has  quilted  the  service,  to  live 
here.  1  am  yet  afraid  he  may  soon  grow  weary  of  \\  in- 
tersen  and  retirement. 

Mrs.  H.  1  should  trust  not.  They,  who  bear  a  cheerful 
and  unreproaching  conscience  into  solitude,  surely  must 
increase  the  measure  of  their  own  enjoyments-.  They 
quit  the  poor,  precarious,  the  dependent  pleasures  which 
they  borrowed  from  the  world,  to  draw  a  real  bliss  from 
that  exhaustless  source  of  true  delight,  the  fountain  of  a 
pure  unsullied  heart. 

Bar.  Has  retirement  long  possessed  so  lovely  an  advo- 
cate ! 

Mrs.  II.  I  have  lived  here  three  years. 
Bar.  And  never  felt  a  secret  wish  for  the  society  you 
left,  and  must  have  adorned  ! 
Mrs.  H.  Never. 

Bar.  To  feel  thus,  belongs  either  to  a  very  rough  or  a 
very  polished  soul.  The  first  sight  convinced  me  in  which 
class  1  am  to  place  you. 

Mrs.  H.  \  With  a  sig7i.]  There  may,  perhaps,  be  a  third 
class. 

Bar.  Indeed,  madam,  I  wish  not  to  be  thought  forward  ; 
but  women  always  seemed  to  me  less  calculated  for  re- 
tirement than  men.    We  have  a  thousand  employments, 
a  thousand  amusements,  which  you  have  not. 
Mrs.  II.  Dare  I  ask  what  they  are  1 
Bar.  We  ride — we  hunt — we  play — read — write 
Mrs.  H.  The  noble  enjoyments  of  the  chase,  and  tne 
still  more  noble  enjoyments  of  play,  I  grant  you. 

Bar.  Nay,  but  dare  I  ask,  what  are  your  employments 
for  a  day  1 

Mrs.  H.  Oh,  my  lord  !  you  cannot  imagine  how  quickly 
time  passes,  when  a  certain  uniformity  guides  the  minutes 
of  our  life.  How  often  do  I  ask,  "  Is  Saturday  come 
again  so  soon]"  On  a  bright  cheerful  morning,  my  bonks 
and  breakfast  are  carried  out  upon  the  grass-nh  t,  Then 
is  the  sweet  picture  of  reviving  industry,  and  eager  inno- 
cence, always  new  to  me.  The  nird's  notes  so  ften  heard, 
still  waken  new  ideas  :  the  herds  are  led  into  the  fields  : 
the  peasant  bends  his  eye  upon  his  plough.  Every  thing 
lives  and  move§  ;  and  in  every  creature's  mind,  it  seems 


THE  STRANGER. 


[Act  II 


as  it  were  morning.  Towards  evening,  I  begin  to  roam 
abroad :  from  the  park  into  the  meadows.  And  some- 
times, returning,  I  pause  to  look  at  the  village  boys  and 
girls  as  they  play.  Then  do  I  bless  their  innocence,  and 
pray  to  Heaven  those  laughing  thoughtless  hours  could  be 
their  lot  for  ever. 

Bar.  This  is  excellent ! — But  these  are  summer  amuse- 
ments.   The  winter  !    The  winter! 

Mrs.  H,  Why  for  ever  picture  winter  like  old  age,  tor- 
pid, tedious,  and  uncheerful  ?  Winter  has  its  own  delights : 
this  is  the  time  to  instruct  and  mend  the  mind  by  reading 
and  reflection.  At  this  season,  too,  I  often  take  my  harp, 
and  amuse  myself  by  playing  or  singing  the  little  favorite 
airs  that  remind  me  of  the  past,  or  solicit  hope  for  the  fu- 
ture. 

Bar.  Happy  indeed  are  they,  who  can  thus  create  and 
vary  their  own  pleasures  and  employments. 

Enter  Peter,  l.    ( Mrs.  Haller  crosses  to  Peter.) 

Pet.  Well — well — Pray  now — I  was  ordered — I  can 
keep  him  out  no  longer — 'Tis  old  Tobias:  he  will  come 
in. 

Enter  Tobias,  l.,  forcing  his  way :  Exit  Peter,  l. 

Tab.  I  must,  good  Heaven,  I  must. 
Mrs.  H.  \  Confused.]  I  have  no  time  at  present — I — I— 
You  see  I  am  not  alone. 

Tob.  Oh  !  this  good  gentleman  will  forgive  me. 
Bar.  What  do  you  want  ] 

Tob.  To  return  thanks.  Even  charity  is  a  burden  if  on« 
may  not  be  grateful  for  it. 

Mrs.  H.  To-morrow,  good  Tobias  ;  to-morrow. 

Bar.  Nay,  no  false  delicacy,  madam.  Allow  hi  ti  to  vent 
the  feelings  of  his  heart ;  and  permit  me  to  witness  a  scene 
which  convinces  me,  even  more  powerfully  than  your  con- 
versation, how  nobly  you  employ  your  time.  Speak,  old 
man. 

Tob.  Oh,  lady,  that  each  word  which  drops  from  my 
lips,  might  call  down  a  blessing  on  your  head  !  I  lay  for- 
saken and  dying  in  my  hut :  not  even  bread  or  hope  re- 
mained. Oh  !  then  you  came  in  the  form  of  an  angel ; 
brought  medicines  to  me  ;  and  your  sweet  consoling  voice 
did  more  than  those     I  am  recovered.    To-day,  frr  the 


BCEZOE  I.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


23 


first  time,  I  have  returned  thanks  in  the  picsence  of  the 
Bun  :  and  now  I  come  to  you,  noble  lady.  Let  me  drop 
my  tears  upon  your  charitable  hand.  For  your  sake,  Hea- 
ven has  blessed  my  latter  days.  The  Stranger  too,  who 
lives  near  me,  has  given  me  a  purse  of  gold  to  buy  my 
eon's  release.  I  am  on  sny  way  to  the  city :  I  shall  pur* 
chase  my  Robert's  release.  Then  I  shall  have  an  honest 
daughter-in-law.  And  you,  if  ever  after  that  you  pass  our 
happy  cottage,  oh  !  what  must  you  feel  when  you  say  to 
yourself,  "  This  is  my  work !" 

Mrs.  H.  [In  a  tone  of  entreaty^  Enough,  Tobias ; 
enough  ! 

Tob.  I  beg  pardon  !  I  cannot  utter  what  is  breathing  in 
my  breast.  There  is  One  who  knows  it.  May  His  blea- 
ring and  your  own  heart  reward  you  !  [Exit,  l. 

Mrs.  II.  [Endeavoring  to  bring  about  a  conversation^  1 
suppose,  my  lord,  we  may  expect  the  Count  and  Countess 
every  moment  now  ] 

Bar.  Not  just  yet,  madam.  He  travels  at  his  leisure. 
I  am  selfish,  perhaps,  in  not  being  anxious  for  his  speed  : 
the  delay  has  procured  me  a  delight  which  I  never  shall 
forget. 

Mrs.  H.  [Smiling.]  You  satirise  mankind,  my  lord. 
Bar.  How  so  1 

Mrs.  H.  In  supposing  such  scenes  to  be  uncommon. 

Bar.  I  confess  I  was  little  prepared  for  such  an  acquain- 
tance as  yourself:  I  am  extremely  suiprised.  When  So- 
lomon told  me  your  name  and  situation,  how  could  I  sup- 
pose that  Pardon  my  curiosity  :    You  have  been,  or 

are  married  1 

Mrs.  II.  [Suddenly  sinking  from  her  cheerful  raillery  into 
mournful  gloom.]  I  have  been  married,  my  lord. 

Bar.  [  Whose  enquiries  evince  curiosity,  yet  are  restrained 
within  the  bounds  of  the  nicest  respect.]  A  widow,  then  ? 

Mrs.  H.  I  beseech  you — There  are  strings  in  the  hu- 
man heart,  which,  touched,  will  sometimes  utter  dieadful 
discord — I  beseech  you — 

Bar.  J.  understand  you.  1  see  you  know  how  to  con- 
ceal every  thing  except  your  perfections. 

Mrs.  H.  My  perfections,  alas !  [Rural  music  without ,  L.] 
But  1  hear  the  happy  tenantry  announce  the  Count's  arrival, 
Xour  pardon,  my  lord  )  I  must  attend  them.      [Exit,  l. 


THE  STRANG EB. 


[Act  II 


Bar.  Excellent  creature  '.—What  is  she,  anil  what  can 
be  l)cr  history  ?  I  must  seek  my  sister  instantly.  How 
strong  and  how  sudden  is  the  interest  I  feel  for-her !  But 
it  is  a  feeling  1  ought  to  check.  And  yet,  why  so  ?  What- 
eve:-  are  the  emotions  she  hns  inspired,  I  am  sure  they  arise 
from  the  perfections  of  the  mind;  and  never  sball  be  met 
by  unwoithiness  in  mine.  [Exit,  l. 

Scene  II. — The  Lawn. 
( Rural  Music,  l  .) 

"Enter  Solomon  and  Peter,  l.  ushering  in  the  Count, 
Child,  Countess  Winteiisen  hading  the  Child;  Mrs 
Haller,  the  Bapon,  and  Servants  following. 

Sol.  Welcome,  ten  thousand  welcomes,  your  Excellen- 
cies ! 

Count.  Well !  here  we  are  !  Heaven  bless  our  advance 
and  retreat !  Mrs.  Haller,  I  bring  you  an  invalid,  who  in 
future  will  swear  to  no  flag  but  yours. 

Mrs.  H.  Mine  flies  for  retreat  and  rural  happiness. 

Count.  But  not  without  retreating  Graces,  and  retiring 
Cupids  too. 

Covntrss.  [  Who  has  in  the  meantime  kindly  embraced 
Mrs.  Haller,  and  by  her  been  welcomed  to  Wintersen.]  My 
dear  Count,  you  forget  that  I  am  present. 

Count.  Why,  in  the  name  of  chivalry,  how  can  I  do  less 
than  your  gallant  brother,  the  Baron,  who  has  been  so  kind 
as  nearly  to  kill  my  four  greys,  in  order  to  be  here  five 
minutes  before  me  1 

Bar.  II  I  had  known  all  the  charms  of  this  place,  you 
should  have  said  so  with  justice. 

Countess.  Don't  you  think  William  much  grown  1 

[Puts  William  over  to  Mrs.  Haller. 

Mrs.  IT.  The  sweet  boy  !  [Stoops  to  kiss  him,  and  deep 
melancholy  overshadows  her  countenance.  Retires  with  the 
Child  a  little,  l 

Count.  Well,  Solomon,  you've  provided  a  good  dinner  I 

Sol.  As  good  as  haste  would  allow,  please  your  Right 
Honourable  Excellency ! 

JPet.  Yes.  as  good  as — 

[  Count  retires  a  little  r.,  with  Solomon  and 


THE  STRANGER. 


25 


Bar  Tell  me,  I  conjure  you,  sister,  what  jewe*1  you 
have  thus  buried  in  the  country  ? 

Countess.  Ha  !  ha  !  What,  brother,  you  caught  at  last  I 
Bar.  Answer  me. 

Countess.  Well,  her  name  is  Mrs.  Haller. 

Bar.  That  I  know  ;  but — 

Countess.  But ! — but  I  know  no  more  myself. 

Bar.  Jesting  apart,  I  wish  to  know. 

Countess.  And,  jesting  apart,  I  wish  you  would  not 
plague  me.  I  have  at  least  a  hundred  thousand  important 
things  to  do.  Heavens  !  the  vicar  may  come  to  pay  hi3 
respects  to  me  before  I  have  been  at  my  toilet ;  of  course 
I  must  consult  my  looking  glass  on  the  occasion.  Come, 
William,  [crossing,  r.J  will  you  help  to  dress  me,  or  stay 
with  your  father  'I 

Count.  We'll  take  care  of  him.       [Goes  to  the  Child,  c. 

Countess.  Come,  Mrs.  Haller. 

[ Mrs.  Haller  crosses  to  the  Countess 
[Exit  with  Mrs.  Haller,  Susan  and  Hannah  following,  r. 

Bar.  [Aside,  and  going.]  I  am  in  a  very  singular  humor. 

[Crosses,  r. 

Count.  Whither  so  fast,  good  brother  1 
Bar.  To  my  apartment :  I  have  letters  to — I — 
Count.  Pshaw  !    Stay.    Let  us  take  a  turn  in  the  park 
together. 

Bar.  Excuse  me.  I  am  not  perfectly  well.  I  should 
be  but  bad  company.    I —  [Exit,  r. 

Count.  [Solomon  and  Peter  advance  bowing,  r.J  Well, 
Solomon,  you  are  as  great  a  fool  as  ever,  [  see. 

Sol.  Ha  !  ha  !  At  your  Right  Honourable  Excellency's 
service. 

Count.  [Points  to  Peter.]  Who  is  that  ape  at  your  el- 
Dow?  

Sol.  Ape  ! — Oh  !  that  is — with  respect  to  your  Excel- 
cncy  be  it  spoken — the  son  of  my  body  ;  by  name,  Peter. 

[Peter  bows 

Count.  So,  so  !    Well,  how  goes  all  on  ] 

Sol.  Well  and  good  ;  well  and  good  Your  Excellency 
will  see  how  I've  improved  the  park.  You'll  not  know  it 
again.  A  hermitage  here  ;  serpentine  walks  there  ;  an 
obelisk  ;  a  ruin  ;  and  all  so  sparingly,  all  done  with  the 
most  economics!  economy. 


2t> 


THE  STRANGER 


[kCT  II 


Ctmnt.  We  I,  I'll  have  a  peep  at  your  obelisk  and  ruins 
while  th  ?y  prepare  for  dinner, 

S&L  I  have  already  ordered  it,  and  will  have  the  honor 
of  attending  your  Right  Honourable  Excellency. 

Count.  Come,  lead  the  way.  [Solomon  crosses,  l.]  Peter, 
attend  your  young  master  to  the  house  ;  [Gives  the  Child 
over  to  Peter,  r.J  we  must  not  tire  him.  [Exeunt,  l.  u,  e. 
conducted  by  Solomon  ;  George  and  Harry  follow. 

Pet.  We'll  go  round  this  way,  your  little  Excellency, 
and  then  we  shall  see  the  bridge  as  we  go  by ;  and  the 
new  boat,  with  all  the  line  ribands  and  streamers.  This 
way,  your  .ittle  Excellency.  [Exit,  leading  the  Child,  r.u.e. 

SeE\E  III. —  The  Ant i chamber. 

Enter  Mrs.  Haller,  r. 

Mrs.  H.  What  has  thus  alarmed  and  subdued  me  1  My 
tears  flow  :  my  heart  bleeds.  Already  had  I  apparently 
overcome  my  chagrin  :  already  had  I  at  least  assumed  that 
easv  eaiety  once  so  natural  to  me,  when  the  si^ht  of  this 
child  in  an  instant  overpowered  me,  When  the  Countess 
called  him  William — Oh^  she  knew  not  that  she  plunged 
a  poinard  in  my  heart.  I  have  a  William  too,  who  must 
be  as  tall  as  this,  if  he  be  still  alive.  Ah  !  yes,  if  he  be 
still  alive.  His  little  sister,  too  !  Why,  fancy,  dost  thou 
rack  me  thus  !  Way  dost  thou  imao:e  my  poor  children, 
fainting  in  sickness,  and  crying  to  their  mother  ]  To  the 
mother  who  has  abandoned  them  ?  [  U^ecps.]  What  a 
wretched  outcast  am  I  !  And  that  just  to-day  1  should  be 
doomed  to  feel  these  horrible  emotions  !  Just  to-day,  when 
disguise  was  so  accessary. 

Enter  Charlotte,  r. 

Cliar.  [Entering.]  Very  pretty,  very  pretty  indeed  !  Bet- 
ter send  me  to  the  erarret  at  once.  Your  servant,  Mrs. 
Haller.  I  beg.  madam,  I  may  have  a  room  fit  for  a  res- 
pectable person. 

Mrs.  H.  The  chamber  into  which  you  have  teen  shown 
is,  I  think,  a  very  neat  one. 

Char.  A  very  neat  one,  is  it  ?  Up  the  back  stairs,  and 
3\*er  the  laundry  !  I  should  never  be  able  to  close  my  eyes. 

Mrs.  U.  [  Pery  mUdijf.]  I  slept  there  a  whole  year 


Scene  III.] 


THE  STRANGER 


27 


Char,  Did  )  ou  !  Then  I  advise  you  to  remove  into  it 
again,  and  the  sooner  the  better.  I'd  have  you  to  know, 
madam,  there  is  a  material  difference  between  certain  per- 
sons and  certain  persons.  Much  depends  upon  the  man 
ner  in  which  one  has  been  educated.  1  think,  madam,  it 
would  only  be  proper  if  you  resigned  your  room  to  me 

Mrs.  H.  If  the  Countess  desires  it,  certainly. 

Char.  The  Countess  !  Very  pretty,  indeed  !  Would  you 
have  me  think  of  plaguing  her  ladyship  with  such  trifles  ) 
I  shall  order  my  trunk  to  be  carried  wherever  I  please. 

Mrs.  H.  Certainly  ;  only  not  into  my  chamber. 

Char.  Provoking  creature  !   but  how  could  I  expect  to 
find  breeding  among  creatures  born  of  one  knows  not 
whom,  and  coming  one  knows  not  whence  ! 
-  Mrs.  H.  The  remark  is  very  just. 

Enter  Peter,  in  haste ;  l. 

Pet.  Oh  lud  !    Oh  lud  !    Oh  lud  !    Oh  lud  ! 
Mrs.  H.  What's  the  matter  ! 

Pet.  The  young  Count  has  fallen  into  the  river  !  Hi* 
little  Excellency  is  drowned  ! 
Mrs.H.  Who!  What] 
Pet.  His  honour,  my  young  master! 
Mrs.  H.  Drowned  % 
Pet.  Yes. 
Mrs.  H.  Dead  ] 
Pet.  No;  he's  not  dead, 

Mrs,  II.  Well,  well,  then  softly  ; — you  will  alarm  tho 
Countess. 

Pet.  Oh  lud  !    Oh  lud  ! 

Enter  the  Baron,  b. 

Bar.  What  is  the  matter  1    Why  all  this  noise  ] 
Pet.  Noise]  Why— 

Mrs.  H.  Be  not  alarmed,  my  lord.  Whatever  may 
have  happened,  the  dear  child  is  now  at  least  safe.  You 
eaid  so,  I  think,  master  Peter  ] 

Pet.  Why,  to  be  sure,  his  little  Excellency  is  not  hurt; 
but  he's  very  wet,  though  :  and  the  Count  is  taking  him 
by  the  garden  door  to  the  house. 

Bar.  Right,  that  the  Countess  may  not  be  alarmed. 
But  how  could  it  happen  1    Pray  tell  us,  young  man  ] 


THE  STRANGER. 


[Act  II 


Pet.  What,  from  beginning  to  end  1  [Crosdng  to  Baron. 
J\fr*  II   >eT«^r  mind  particulars.    You  attended  the 

d^v  C/iUO  I 

Pff.  T-ue. 

••»'>>  li.  Into  the  park  ? 
Pri.  True. 

J\I rs.  H.  And  then  you  went  to  the  river  1 

Pet.  True. — Why,  rabbit  it,  I  believe  you're  a  witch. 

Mrs.  H.  Well,  and  what  happened  further1? 

Pet.  Why,  you  see,  his  dear  little  Excellency  would 
see  the  bridge  that  father  built  out  of  the  old  summer 
house ;  and  the  streamers,  and  the  boat,  and  all  that. — I 
only  turned  my  head  round  for  a  moment,  to  look  after  a 
magpie — Crush  !  Down  went  the  bridge  with  his  little 
Excellency  ;  and  oh,  how  I  was  scared  to  see  him  carried 
down  the  river ! 

Bar.  And  you  drew  him  out  again  directly  1 

Pet.  No,  I  did'nt. 

Mrs.  H.  No  ;  your  father  did  % 

Pd.  No,  he  did'nt, 

Mrs.  H.  Why,  you  did  not  leave  him  in  the  water  ? 

Pet.  Yes,  we  did  ! — But  we  bawled  as  loud  as  we  could 
You  might  have  heard  us  down  to  the  village. 

Mrs.  H.  Ay — and  so  the  people  came  immediately  to 
his  assistance  % 

Pet.  No,  they  did'nt ;  but  the  Stranger  came,  that  lives 
yonder,  close  to  old  Toby,  and  never  speaks  a  syllable. 
Odsbodkins !  What  a  devil  of  a  fellow  it  is!  With  a 
single  spring  bounce  he  slaps  into  the  torrent ;  sails  and 
dives  about  and  about  like  a  duck;  gets  me  hold  of  the 
little  angel's  hair,  and,  Heaven  bless  him  !  pulls  him  sale 
and  sound  to  dry  land  again. — Ha  !  ha  !  ha ! 

Bar.  Is  the  Stranger  with  them  1 

Pet.  Oh,  hid !  no.  He  ran  away.  His  Excellency 
wanted  to  thank  him,  and  all  that ;  but  he  was  off ;  van- 
quished— like  a  ghost.  [Crosses  to  r. 

Ent,r  Solomon,  l. 

SoK  Oh!  thou  careless  varlet !  I  disown  you!  "What 
an  accident  might  have  happened  !  And  how  you  have 
territied  his  Excellency  !  [Grosses  to  Mrs.  Haller.]  But  I 
beg  paidon,  [Bows.}  His  Right  Honourable  Excellency, 
the  Coiint,  requests  your — 


Sceto  III.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


29 


Bar.  We  come.    [Crosses,  and  exit  wifl  Mrs  Holler,  l. 
Char.  [Advances,  R.]  Ha'  ha!  ha!   Why,  Mr.  Solomon, 
you  scern  to  have  a  hopeful  pupil. 
Sol  Ha!  sirrah! 

Char.  But  Mr.  Solomon,  why  were  you  not  nimble 
enough  to  have  saved  his  young  lordship  1 

SoL  Not  in  time,  my  sweet  Miss.  .Besides,  merry  on 
us  !  I  should  have  sunk  like  a  lump  of  lead  ;  and  I  hap- 
pened to  have  a  letter  of  consequence  in  my  pocket,  which 
would  have  been  made  totally  illegible,  a  letter  from  Con- 
stantinople, written  by  Chevalier— --What's  his  name  ? 
f  Draws  a  letter  from  h  is  pocket,  and.  putting  it  up  again  di- 
rectly, drops  it.  Peter  takes  it  vp  slily  and  unobserved. \  It 
contains  momentous  matter,  I  assure  you.  The  world  will 
be  astonished  when  it  comes  to  light ;  and  not  a  soul  will 
suppose  that  old  Solomon  had  a  finger  in  the  pie. 

Char.  No,  that  I  believe. 

Sol.  But  I  must  go  and  see  to  the  cellar.  Miss,  your 
most  obedient  servant.    Oh,  sirrah,  Oh  !  f  Exit,  L. 

Char.  [  With  pride.]  Your  servant,  Mr.  Solomon. 

Pet.  Here's  the  letter  from  Constantinople.  I  womler 
what  it  can  be  about.    Now  for  it!  [Opens  it. 

Char.  Aye,  let's  have  it. 

Pet.  [Reads.]  "  If  so  be  you  say  so,  Til  never  work  for 
you,  never  no  more.  Considering  as  how  your  Sunday  waist- 
coat has  been  turned  three  times,  it  doesn't  look  amiss,  and 
Fvc  charged  as  little  as  any  tailor  of  V/«  all.  You  say  1 
must  pay  for  the  buckram  ;  but  I  say,  Til  be  damn'd  if  1  do. 
So  no  more  from  your  loving  nephew,  Timothy  Twist." 
From  Constantinople  !    Why,  Cousin  Tim  writ  it. 

Char.  Cousin  Tim  !    Who  is  he  ? 

Pet.  Good  lack  !  Don't  you  know  cousin  Tim  1  Why, 
he's  one  of  the  best  tailors  in  all — 

Char.  A  tailor  !  No,  sir,  I  don't  know  him.  f  Crosses  l.] 
My  father  was  a  state  coachman,  and  wore  his  Highness's 
livery.  [Exit,  l. 

Pet.  [Mimicking.]  "-My  father  was  a  state  coachman, 
and  wore  his  Highness's  livery." — Well,  and  cousin  Tim 
could  have  nade  his  Highness's  livery,  if  you  go  to  that. 
S*:ate  coach  nan,  indeed  !  f  Exit,  L. 


END  OF  ACT  II. 


THE  STRANGER. 


[Act  II 


ACT  III. 

Scene  T. — The  Skirts  of  the  Park  and  Lodge,  8fc.  as  before. 
The  Stranger  is  discovered  on  a  seat,  reading. 

Enter  Francis,  from  the  Lodge. 
Fra.  Sir,  sir,  dinner  is  ready.  [Comes forward,  l 

Stra.  I  want  no  dinner. 
Fra.  I've  got  something  good. 
Stra.  Eat  it  yourself. 
Fra.  You  are  not  hungry  1 

Stra.  No.  \Ri*€i. 
Fra.  Nor  I.    The  heat  does  take  away  all  appetite. 

Stra.  Yes. 

Fra.  I'll  put  it  by  ;  perhaps  at  night — 

Stra.  Perhaps. 

Fra.  Dear  sir,  dare  1  speak  1 

Stra.  Speak. 

Fra.  You  have  done  a  noble  action. 
Stra.  What? 

Fra.  You  have  saved  a  fellow  creature's  life. 
Stra.  Peace. 

Fra.  Do  you  know  who  he  was  1 
Stra.  No. 

Fra.  The  only  son  of  Count  Wintersen. 
Stra.  Immaterial. 

Fra.  A  gentleman,  by  report  worthy  and  benevolent  a* 
yourself. 

Stra,  \ Angry.]  Silence  !    Dare  you  flatter  me  ? 

Fra.  As  I  look  to  Heaven  for  mercy,  I  speak  from  my 
heart.  When  I  observe  how  you  are  doing  good  around 
you,  how  you  are  making  every  individual's  wants  your 
own,  and  are  yet  yourself  unhappy,  alas  !  my  heart  bleeda 
lor  you. 

Stra.  I  thank  you,  Francis.  [Crosses  L.]  I  can  only  thank 
you.  Yet  share  this  consolation  with  me  ; — my  sufferings 
are  unmerited.  [Crosses,  r. 

Fra.  My  poor  master  ! 

Stra.  Have  you  forgotten  what  the  old  man  said  this 
morning  1  "  There  is  another  and  a  better  world  !"  Oh, 
'tis  true.  Then  let  us  hope  with  fervency,  and  yet  endure 
with  patience  ! — [CJiarlotte  sings  without.]  What's  here  I 


Sccins  1 .] 


THE  STRANGER. 


Enter  Charlotte,  [singing,]  from  the  "Park  Gate,  L  u.  e, 

Char.  I  presume,  sir,  you  are  the  strange  gentlemnn 
that  drew  my  young  master  out  of  the  water! — |  The 
Stranger  reads.]  Or,  [To  Francis.]  are  you  he  1  [Francis 
makes  a  wry  face.]  Are  the  creatures  both  dumb  1  [Looks 
at  them  by  turns.]  Surely,  old  Solomon  has  fixed  two  sta- 
tues here,  by  way  of  ornament ;  for  of  any  use  there  is  no 
sign.  [Approaches  Francis.\  No,  this  is  alive,  and  breathes; 
yes,  and  moves  its  eyes.  [Bawls  in  his  ear.]  Good  friend ! 

Fra.  I'm  not  deaf. 

Char.  No,  nor  dumb,  I  perceive  at  last. — Is  yon  lifeless 
thing  your  master  ] 

Fra.  That  honest,  silent  gentleman,  is  my  master. 

Char.  The  same  that  drew  the  young  Count  out  of  the 
water  ] 

Fra.  The  same. 

Char.  [To  the  Stranger.]  Sir,  my  master  and  mistress, 
the  Count  and  Countess,  present  their  respectful  compli- 
ments, and  request  the  honour  of  your  company  at  a  fa- 
mily supper  this  evening. 

Stra.  I  shall  not  come. 

Char.  But  you'll  scarce  send  such  an  uncivil  answer  as 
this.  The  Count  is  overpowered  with  gratitude.  You 
saved  his  son's  life. 

Stra.  I  did  it  willingly. 

Char.  And  won't  accept  of  "  I  thank  you,"  in  return  ? 
Stra.  No. 

Char.  You  really  are  cruel,  sir,  I  must  tell  you.  There 
are  three  of  us  ladies  at  the  Castle,  and  we  are  all  dying 
with  curiosity  to  know  who  you  are.  [Exit  Stranger,  r.] 
The  master  is  crabbed  enough,  however.  Let  me  try  what 
I  can  make  of  the  man.  Pray,  sir — [Francis  crosses,  r.] — 
The  beginning  promises  little  enough.  Friend,  why  won't 
you  look  at  me  1 

Fra.  I  like  to  look  at  green  trees  better  than  green  eyes. 

Char.  Green  eyes,  you  monster  !  Who  told  you  that 
my  eyes  were  green  ]  Let  me  tell  you,  there  have  been 
Bonnets  made  on  my  eyes  before  now.    Green  eyes  ! 

Fra.  Glad  to  hear  it. 

Char.  To  the  point,  then,  at  once.  What  is  your  mas- 
ter ? 


32 


THE  STRANG SR. 


[Act  III 


Fra.  A  man. 

Char   I  surmised  as  much.    But  what's  his  name  ] 

Fra.  The  same  as  his  father's. 

Char,  Not  unlikel)  ;  and  his  father  was— 

Fra.  Married. 

Char.  To  whom  1 

Fra.  To  a  woman. 

Char.  |  Enraged.]  I'll  tell  you  what ;  who  your  master 
is,  I  see  I  shall  not  learn,  and  1  don't  care ;  but  I  know 
what  you  are. 

Fra.  Well,  what  am  I  ] 

Char.  A  bear  !  [Exit  at  gate. 

Fra.  Thank  you  !  Now  to  see  how  habit  and  example 
corrupt  one's  manners.  I  am  naturally  the  civilest  spoken 
fellow  in  the  world  to  the  pretty  prattling  rogues  ;  yet,  fol- 
lowing my  master's  humour,  I've  rudely  driven  this  wench 
away.    I  must  have  a  peep  at  her,  though. 

[Looking  towards  the  Park  Gate. 
Enter  Stranger,  k. 

Stra.  Is  that  woman  gone  ] 

Fra.  Yes. 

Stra,  Francis  ! 

Fra.  Sir. 

Stra.  We  must  be  gone  too. 
Fra.  But  whither  ? 
Stra.  I  don't  care. 
Fra.  I'll  attend  you. 
Stra.  To  any  place  1 
Fra.  To  death. 

Stra.  Heaven  grant  it — to  me,  at  least !    There  is  peace. 

Fra.  Peace  is  every  where.    Let  the  storm  rage  with- 
out if  the  heart  be  but  at  rest.    Yet  1  think  we  are  very 
well  where  we  are  :  the  situation  is  inviting  ;   and  nature  . 
lavish  of  her  beauties,  and  of  her  bounties  too. 

Stra.  But  I  am  not  a  wild  beast  to  be  stared  at,  and  sent 
for  as  a  show.    Is  it  fit  I  should  be  1 

Fra.  Another  of  your  interpretations  !  That  a  man,  the 
life  of  whose  only  son  you  have  saved,  should  invite  you 
to  his  house,  seems  to  me  not  very  unnatural. 

Stra.  I  wrill  not  be  invited  to  any  house. 

Fra.  For  once,  methinks,  you  might  submit.  You'll  not 
be  asked  a  second  time.  [Half  aside. 


JCCHE  I.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


33 


Stra.  Proud  wretches !  They  believe  the  most  essen- 
tial service  is  requited,  if  one  may  but  have  the  honour  of 
sitting  at  their  table.    Let  us  begone.  [Crosses,  l. 

Fra.  Yet  hold,  sir  !  This  bustle  will  soon  be  over. 
Used  to  the  town,  the  Count  and  his  party  will  soon  be 
tired  of  simple  nature,  and  you  will  again  be  freed  from 
observation. 

Stra.  Not  from  your's. 

Fra.  This  is  too  much.    Do  I  deserve  your  doubts  ? 
Stra.  Am  I  in  the  wrong  ? 
Fra.  You  are,  indeed  ! 

Stra.  Francis,  my  servant,  you  are  my  only  friend. 

Fra.  That  title  makes  amends  for  all. 

Stra.  But,  look  !  look,  Francis  !  There  are  uniforms 
and  gay  dresses  in  the  walk  again.  No,  I  must  be  gone. 
Here  I'll  stay  no  longer.  [Crosses,  r. 

Fra.  Well,  then,  I'll  tie  up  my  bundle. 

Stra.  The  sooner  the  better !  They  come  this  way. 
Now  must  I  shut  myself  in  my  hovel,  and  lose  this  fine 
breeze.  Nay,  if  they  be  your  high-bred  class  of  all,  they 
may  have  impudence  enough  to  walk  into  my  chamber. 
Francis,  I  shall  lock  the  door. 

[Goes  into  the  Lodge,  locks  the  door,  aud  is  fastening 
the  shutters. 

Fra.  And  I'll  be  your  sentinel. 

Stra.  Very  well.  [Closes  the  shutters. 

Fra.  Now,  should  these  people  be  as  inquisitive  as  their 
maid,  I  must  summon  my  whole  stock  of  impertinence. 
But  their  questions  and  my  answers  need  little  study. 
They  can  learn  nothing  of  the  Stranger  from  me  ;  for  the 
best  of  all  possible  reasons — I  know  nothing  of  him  myself. 

Enter  Baron  and  Countess,  from  Gates. 

Countess.  [Comes  down  c]  There  is  a  strange  face.  The 
itrvant,  probably. 

Bar.  (l.)  Friend,  can  we  speak  to  your  master] 
Fra.  (r.)  No. 

Bar.  Only  for  a  few  minutes. 
Fra.  He  has  locked  himself  in  his  room. 
Countess.  Tell  him  a  lady  waits  for  him. 
F^a.  Then  he's  sure  not  to  come. 
Countcsi.  Does  he  hate  our  sex  ] 


34 


THE  STRANGER. 


L*3T  HI 


Fra  He  hates  the  whole  human  race,  bu.  women  parti- 
cularly, 

Countess.  And  why  ] 

Fra.  He  may  have  been  deceived. 

Countess.  This  is  not  very  courteous. 

Fra.  My  master  is  not  over  courteous  ;  but  when  he 
sees  a  chance  of  saving1  a  fellow  creature's  life,  he'll  at- 
tempt it  at  the  hazard  of  his  own. 

Bar.  You  are  right.  Now  hear  the  reason  of  our  visit. 
The  wife  and  brother-in-law  of  the  man,  whose  child  your 
master  has  saved,  wish  to  acknowledge  their  obligations  to 
him. 

Fra.  That  he  dislikes.  He  only  wishes  to  live  unnoticed. 
Countess.  He  appears  to  be  unfortunate. 
Fra.  Appears  ! 

Countess.  An  afFair  of  honor,  perhaps,  or  some  unhappy 
attachment  may  have — 
Fra.  It  may. 

Countess.  Be  this  as  it  may,  I  wish  to  know  who  he  is. 
Fra.  So  do  I. 

Countess.  What !    Don't  you  know  him  yourself? 

Fra.  Oh  !  I  know  him  well  enough.  I  mean  his  real 
self — His  heart — his  soul — his  worth — his  honour  ! — Per- 
haps you  think  one  knows  a  man,  when  one  is  acquainted 
with  his  name  and  person. 

Countess.  'Tis  well  said,  friend  ;  you  please  me  much. 
And  now  I  should  like  to  know  you.    Who  are  you  1 

Fra.  Your  humble  servant.  [Exit,  a. 

Countess.  This  is  affectation  !  A  desire  to  appear  sin- 
gular !  Every  one  wishes  to  make  himself  distinguished. 
One  sails  round  the  world  ;  another  creeps  into  a  hovel. 

Bar.  And  the  man  apes  his  master ! 

Countess.  Come,  brother,  let  us  seek  the  Count.  He 
and  Mrs.  Haller  turned  into  the  lawn —  [Going.  . 

Bar.  Stay.    First,  a  word  or  two,  sister .    I  am  in  lovo. 

Countess.  For  the  hundredth  time. 

Bar.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life. 

Countess.  I  wish  you  joy. 

Bar.  Till  now,  you  have  evaded  my  inquiries.  Who  is 
phe  %  I  beseech  you,  sister,  be  serious.  There  :.s  a  time 
for  all  things. 

Countess  Well,  if  I  am  to  be  serious,  I  obey.    I  do  not 


ECEWE  I.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


36 


know  who  Mrs.  Haller  is,  as  I  have  already  tol  1  yo  \ ;  but 
what  I  do  know  of  her,  shall  not  be  concealed  from  you. 
It  may  now  be  three  years  ago,  when,  one  evening,  about 
twilight,  a  lady  was  announced,  who  wished  to  speak  with 
me  in  private.  Mrs.  Haller  appeared,  with  all  that  grace 
and  modesty  which  have  enchanted  you.  Her  features,  at 
that  moment,  bore  keener  marks  of  the  sorrow  and  confu- 
sion which  have  since  settled  into  gentle  melancholy.  She 
threw  herse^at  my  feet ;  and  besought  me  to  save  a  wretch 
who  was  on  the  brink  of  despair.  She  told  me  she  had 
heard  much  of  my  benevolence,  and  offered  herself  as  a 
servant  to  attend  me.  I  endeavoured  to  dive  into  the 
cause  of  her  sufferings,  but  in  vain.  She  concealed  her 
secret ;  yet  opening  to  me  more  and  more  each  day  a  heart, 
chosen  by  virtue  as  her  temple,  and  an  understanding  im- 
proved by  the  most  refined  attainments.  She  no  lon- 
ger remained  my  servant,  but  became  my  friend,  and,  by 
her  own  desire,  has  ever  since  resided  here.  [Curtseying.] 
Brother,  I  have  done. 

Bar.  Too  little  to  satisfy  my  curiosity  ;  yet  enough  to 
make  me  realize  my  project.  Sister,  lend  me  your  aid — 
I  would  marry  her. 

Countess.  You ! 

Bar.  I. 

Countess.  Baron  Stein  fort ! 

Bar.  For  shame  !    If  I  understand  you. 

Countess.  Not  so  harsh,  and  not  so  hasty  !  Those  great 
sentiments  of  contempt  of  inequality  in  rank  are  very  fine 
in  a  romance  ;  but  we  happen  not  to  be  inhabitants  of  an 
ideal  world.  How  could  you  introduce  her  to  the  circle  we 
live  in  %  You  surely  would  not  attempt  to  present  her  to— 

Bar.  Object  as  you  will — my  answer  is — I  love.  Sister, 
^ou  see  a  man  before  you,  who — 

Countess.  Who  wants  a  wife. 

Bar.  No  ;  who  has  deliberately  poised  advantage  against 
disadvantage  ;  domestic  ease  and  comfort  against  the  false 
gaieties  of  fashion.  I  can  withdraw  into  the  country.  I 
need  no  honours  to  make  my  tenants  happy  ;  and  my  heart 
will  teach  me  to  make  their  happiness  my  own.  With  such 
a  wife  as  this,  children  who  resemble  her,  and  fortune 
enough  to  spread  comfcit  around  me,  what  would  the  soul 
of  man  have  more  ? 


36  THE  STRANGER.  [Act  III 

Countess.  This  is  all  vastly  fine.    I  admtre  your  plan; 
only  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  one  trifling  circumstance. 
Bar.  And  that  is — 

Countess.  Whether  Mrs.  Haller  will  have  you  or  not. 
Bar.  There,  sister,  I  just  want  your  assistance. — Good 
Henrietta. 

Countess.  Well,  here's  my  band.  I'll  do  ad  I  can  for 
you.  St ! — We  had  near  been  overheard.  They  are  com- 
ing.   Be  patient  and  obedient. 

Enter  at  the  Gates,  Count,  and  Mrs.  Haller  leaning  on 
his  arm,  l.     They  advance,  c. 

Count.  Upon  my  word,  Mrs.  Haller,  you  are  a  nimble 
walker ;  I  should  be  sorry  to  run  a  race  with  you. 

Airs.  H.  Custom,  my  lord.  You  need  only  take  the 
same  walk  every  day  for  a  month. 

Count.  Yes  ;  if  1  wanted  to  resemblf  my  greyhounds. — 
Well,  what  says  the  Stranger  r{ 

Countess.  He  gave  Charlotte  a  flat  refusal ;  and  you  see 
his  door,  and  even  his  shutters  are  closed  against  us. 

Count.  What  an  unaccountable  being  !  But  it  won't  do. 
]  must  show  my  gratitude  one  way  or  other.  [Crosses  to 
Steinfort.)  Steinfort,  we  will  take  the  ladies  home,  and 
then  you  shall  try  once  again  to  see  him.  YTou  can  talk  to 
these  oddities  better  than  I  can. 

Bar.  If  you  wish  it,  with  all  my  heart. 

Count.  Thank  you,  thank  you.  Come,  ladies ;  come 
Mrs.  Haller. 

[Exeunt  Countess     Mrs.  H.,  Count     Baron,  throy  Gates. 

Scene  IT. — A  Chamber  in  the  Castle, 
Enter  Countess  and  Mrs.  Haller,  r. 

Countess.  Well,  Mrs.  Haller,  how  do  you  like  the  man 
(hat  just  now  left  us  ] 

Mrs.  H.  Who  do  you  mean,  madam  ? 

( 'ouitiess  M  y  br<  >  ther. 

Mrs.  11.  He  deserves  1o  be  your  brother. 

Countess.  \C urtset//ng.\  Your  most  obedient !  That  shall 
be  written  in  my  pocket  book. 

Mrs,  II.  Without  flattery,  then  rr.iadam,  he  appears  to 
be  most  amiable. 


SciKt  II.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


ft 


Countess,  Grood  ! — And  z.  handsome  man  ? 

Mrs.  II.  [  With  indifference, \  Oh,  yes. 

Countess.  "  Oh,  yes  !"  It  sounded  almost  like  "  Oh, 
no  !"  But  I  must  tell  you,  that  he  looks  upon  you  to  be 
a  handsome  woman.  [Mrs.  Hallcr  smiles.]  You  make  nt 
reply  to  this  % 

Mrs.  II.  What  shall  I  reply  ?  Derision  never  fell  from 
your  lips  ;  and  I  am  little  calculated  to  support  it. 

Countess.  As  little  as  you  are  calculated  to  be  the  cause 
of  it.    No  ; — I  was  in  earnest. — Now  ? 

Mrs.  H.  You  confuse  me  ! — But  why  should  I  play  the 
prude  \  I  will  own  there  was  a  time  when  I  thought  my- 
self handsome.  'Tis  past,  Alas!  The  enchanting  beau- 
ties of  a  female  countenance  arise  from  peace  of  mind — 
the  look,  which  captivates  an  honorable  man,  must  be  re- 
flected from  a  noble  soul. 

Countess.  Then  Heaven  grant  my  bosom  may  ever  hold 
as  pure  a  heart  as  now  these  eyes  bear  witness  lives  in 
yours. 

Mrs.  H.  [  With  sudden  wildmss].  Oh  !  Heaven  forbid  ! 
Countess.  [Astonished.]  How ! 

Mrs.  H.  [  Checking  her  tears. ]  Spare  me  !  I  am  a  wretch 
The  sufferings  of  three  years  can  give  me  no  claim  to  your 
friendship — No,  not  even  to  your  compassion.  Oh  !  Spare 
me  !  [Going. 

Countess.  Stay,  Mrs.  Haller.  For  the  first  time,  I  beg 
your  confidence. — My  brother  loves  you.  * 

Mrs,  H.  [Starting  and  gazing  full  in  the  face  of  the 
Countess.]  For  mirth,  too  much — for  earnest,  too  mourn- 
ful ! 

Countess.  I  revere  that  modest  blush.  Discover  to  me 
who  you  are.  You  risk  nothing.  Pour  all  your  griefs  in- 
to a  sister's  bosom.  Am  I  not  kind  1  And  can  [  not  be 
silent  1 

Mrs.  H.  Alas  !  But  a  frank  reliance  on  a  generous 
mind  is  the  greatest  sacrifice  to  be  offered  by  true  repen- 
tance. This  sacrifice  I  will  offer.  [Hesitating.]  Did  you 
never  hear — pardon  me — did  you  never  hear — Oh  !  how 
shocking  is  it  to  unmask  a  deception,  which  alone  has  re- 
commended me  to  your  regard  !  But  it  must  be  so. — Ma- 
dam— Fie,  Adela  de  !  Does  pride  become  you  ]  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  the  (Jountess  Waldbourg  ] 


33 


THE  STRANGER. 


[Act  III 


Countess.  I  think  I  di  1  hear,  at  the  neighboring  court, 
of  such  a  creature.  She  plunged  an  honourable  husband 
into  misery.    She  ran  away  with  a  villain. 

Mrs.  H.  She  did  indeed.  [Falls  at  the  feet  of  the  Countess.] 
Do  hot  cast  me  from  you. 

Countess.  For  Heaven's  sake  !     You  are — 

Mrs.  H.  I  am  that  wretch. 

Countess.  [  Turning  from  her  with  horror. \  Ha !— Begone  f 
[Going,  hut  her  heart  draws  her  back.\  Yet,  she  is  unfortu- 
nate :  she  is  unfriended  !  Her  image  is  repentance — Her 
life  the  proof.  Be  still  awhile,  remorseless  prejudice,  and 
let  the  genuine  feelings  of  my  soul  avow — they  do  not  tru- 
ly honour  virtue,  who  can  insult  the  erring  heart  that  would 
return  to  her  sanctuary.  [Looking  with  sorrow  on  her.]  Rise, 
I  beseech  you,  rise  !  My  husband  and  my  brother  may 
surprise  us.    I  promise  to  be  silent.  [Raising  her. 

Mrs.  H.  Yes,  you  will  be  silent — But,  oh  !  conscience ! 
conscience!  thou  never  wilt  be  silent. — [Clasping  her 
hands.]  Do  not  cast  me  from  you. 

Countess.  Never!  Your  lonely  life,  your  silent  anguish 
and  contrition,  may  at  length  atone  your  crime.  And  ne- 
ver shall  you  want  an  asylum,  where  your  penitence  may 
lament  your  loss.  Your  fault  was  youth  and  inexperience! 
your  heart  never  was,  never  could  be  concerned  in  it. 

Mrs.  H.  Oh  !  spare  me  !  My  conscience  never  re- 
proaches me  so  bitterly,  as  when  I  catch  my  base  thoughts 
in  search  of  an  excuse  !  No,  nothing  can  palliate  my 
guilt ;  and  the  only  just  consolation  left  me,  is  to  acquit 
the  man  I  wronged,  and  own  I  erred  without  a  cause  of 
fair  complaint. 

Countess.  And  this  is  the  mark  of  true  repentance. 
Alas  !  my  friend,  when  superior  sense,  recommended,  too, 
by  superior  charms  of  person,  assail  a  young  though  wed- 
ded— 

Mrs.  H.  Ah  !  not  even  that  mean  excuse  is  left  me.  In 
all  that  merits  admiration,  respect,  and  love,  he  was  far, 
far  beneath  my  husband.  But  to  attempt  to  account  for 
my  strange  infatuation — I  cannot  bear  it,  I  thought  my 
husband's  manner  grew  colder  to  me.  'Tis  true,  I  knew 
that  his  expenses,  and  his  confidence  in  deceitful  friends, 
had  embarrassed  his  means,  and  clouded  his  spirits  ;  yet  1 
thought  he  denied  nje  pleasures  and  amusements  still 


Scene  II.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


39 


within  our  reach.  My  vanity  was  mortified!  My  confi- 
dence not  courted.  The  serpent  tongue  of  my  seducer 
promised  every  thing.  But  never  could  such  arguments 
avail,  till,  assisted  by  forged  letters,  and  the  treachery  of 
a  servant,  whom  I  most  confided  in,  he  fixed  my  belief 
that  my  lord  was  false,  and  that  all  the  coldness  I  complain- 
ed of  was  disgust  to  me,  and  love  for  another — all  his  home 
retrenchments  but  the  means  of  satisfying  a  rival's  luxury. 
Maddened  with  this  convicth  n,  (conviction  it  was,  for  arti- 
fice was  most  ingenious  in  its  proof,)  I  left  my  children — ■ 
father — husband,  to  follow — a  villain. 

Countess.  But,  with  such  a  heart,  my  friend  could  nut 
remain  long  in  her  delusion  ] 

Mrs.  H.  Long  enough  to  make  a  sufficient  penitence 
impossible.  Oh,  what  were  my  sensations  when  the  mist 
dispersed  before  my  eyes  !  I  called  for  my  husband,  but 
in  vain  ! — I  listened  for  the  prattle  of  my  children,  but  in 
vain  ! 

Countess.  [Embracing  her.]  Here,  here,  on  this  bosom 
only  shall  your  future  tears  be  shed ;  and  may  I,  dear  suf- 
ferer, make  you  again  familiar  with  hope  ! 

Mrs.'Ii.  Oh!  impossible! 

Countess.  Have  you  never  heard  of  your  children  1 
Mrs,  Ii.  Never. 

Countess.  We  must  endeavor  to  gain  some  account  of 
them.  We  must — Hold  !  My  husband  and  my  brother  ! 
Oh!  my  poor  brother  !  I  had  quite  forgotten  him.  Quick, 
dear  Mrs.  Hailer,  wipe  your  eyes.    Let  us  meet  them. 

Mrs.  H.  Madam,  I'll  follow.  Allow  me  a  moment  to 
compose  myself. — \Erit  Countess,  R.j  I  pause! — Oh!  yes 
— to  compose  myself!  {Ironically.}  She  little  thinks  it  is 
but  to  gain  one  solitary  moment  to  vent  my  soul's  remorse. 
Once,  the  purpose  of  my  unsettled  mind  was  self-destruc- 
tion. Heaven  knows  how  I  have  sued  for  hope  and  resig- 
nation. I  did  trust  my  prayers  were  heard. — Oh!  spare 
me  further  trial!  I  fee ,  I  feel  my  heart  and  brain  can 
bear  no  m?re.  [Exit,  k. 


ENE    OP  ACT  1X1 


40 


THE  STRANGER. 


[Act  II, 


ACT  IV. 

ScsN£  I. — Tht  Skirts  of  the  Park,  Lodge,  fyc,  as  before. 

A  Tabic,  spread  with  Fruits,  Sfc. 

Francis  discovered  placing  the  Supper. 

Fra,  I  know  he  loves  to  have  his  early  supper  in  tf  o 
fresh  air;  and,  while  he  sups,  not  that  I  believe  any  thing 
can  amuse  him,  yet  I  will  try  my  little  Savoyard's  pretty 
voices.  J  have  heard  him  speak  as  if  he  had  loved  music. 
|  Music  without,  L.J  Oh,  here  they  are. 

Enter,  l.,  Annette  and  Claudine,  playing  on  their  Guitars 

Ann.    To  welcome  mirth  and  harmless  glee, 
We  rambling  minstrels,  blithe  and  free, 
With  song  the  laughing  hours  beguile, 
And  wear  a  never  fading  smile  : 
Where'er  we  roam, 
We  find  a  home, 
And  greeting,  to  reward  our  toil. 

Clan.   No  anxious  griefs  disturb  our  rest, 
Nor  busy  cares  annoy  our  breast; 
Fearless  we  sink  in  soft  repose, 
While  night  her  sable  mantle  throws. 

With  grateful  lay, 

Hail,  rising  day, 
That  rosy  health  and  peace  bestows ! 

During  the  Duct,  the  Stranger  looks  from  the  Lodge  win*. 

do iv,  and  at  the  conclusion,  comes  out. 

Stra.  (r.)  What  mummery  is  this  1 

Fra.  (r.  c.)  I  hoped  it  might  amuse  you,  sir. 

Stra.  Amuse  me — ford  ! 

Fra.  Well,  then,  I  wished  to  amuse  myself  a  little.  I 
don't  think  my  recreations  are  so  very  numerous. 

Stra.  That's  true,  my  poor  fellow;  indeed  they  are  not. 
Let  them  go  on. — I'll  listen.        [Retires  and  sits  down,  r. 

Fra.  But  to  please  you,  my  poor  master,  I  fear  it  must 
be  a  sadder  strain. — Annette,  have  you  none  but  these 
cheerful  songs  ? 

Ann.  O.  plenty.  If  you  are  dolefully  given,  we  can  be 
as  sad  as  night.  I'll  sing  you  an  air  Mrs.  Haller  taught 
me,  the  first  year  she  came  to  the  Castle. 


8JLXEI.J  THE  STRANGER.  41 

Fra.  Mrs.  Haller  !    I  should  like  to  hear  thai 

Ann.    I  have  a  silent  sorrow  here, 

A  grief  I'll  ne'er  impart ; 
It  breathes  no  sigh,  it  sheds  no  tear, 

But  it  consumes  my  heart. 
This  cheri«h'd  woe,  this  loved  despair, 

My  lor  for  ever  be, 
So,  my  soul's  lord,  the  pangs  I  bear 

Be  never  known  by  thee  ! 

And  when  pale  characters  of  death 

Shall  mark  this  alter'd  cheek, 
When  my  poor  wasted  trembling  breath  ' 

My  life's  last  hope  would  speak, 
I  shall  not  raise  my  eyes  to  Heaven, 

Nor  mercy  ask  for  me  ; 
My  soul  despairs  to  be  forgiven, 

Unpardon'd,  love,  by  thee. 

Stra.  [Surprised  and  moved.]  Oh  !  I  have  heard  that  air 
before,  but  'twas  with  other  words.  \ Rises.]  Francis,  share 
our  supper  with  your  friends — I  need  none. 

[Enters  the  Lodge. 

Fra.  Sol  feared.  Well,  [Crosses,  c]  my  pretty  favour- 
ites, here  are  refreshments. — [Leads  them  to  the  table.] — 
So,  disturbed  again  !  Now  will  this  gentleman  call  for 
more  music,  and  make  my  master  mad  !  Go,  go,  and  re- 
turn when  you  observe  this  man  is  gone. — [Exeunt,  l.,  An- 
nette and  Claudine.  singing.  Francis  sits  and  cats.] — I  was 
in  hopes  that-  1  might  at  least  eat  my  supper  peaceably  in 
the  open  air :  but  they  follow  at  our  heels  like  blood- 
hounds. 

Enter  BARoxyVow,  Gates. 

Bar.  (l.)  My  good  friend,  I  must  speak  to  your  mas- 
ter. 

Fra.  (a.)  Can't  serve  you. 
Bar.  Why  not  ] 
Fra.  It's  forbidden. 

Bar.  [Offers  money.]    There!    Announce  me. 

Fra.  Want  no  money. 

Bar.  Well,  only  announce  me,  then. 

Fra.  {Rising.]  I  will  announce  you,  sir;  but  it  won't 
avail!  I  shall  be  abus ?d,  and  you  rejected.  However, 
we  can  but  try.  [Going* 

Bat ,  I  only  ask  half  a  minute.  [Francis  goes  into  tht 


THE  STRANGER. 


[Act  [V 


Lodge]  But  when  he  comes,  how  am  I  to  treat  him  ]  1 
never  encountered  a  misanthrope  before.  1  have  heard  of 
insl  ructions  as  to  conduct  in  society;  but  how  am*  I  to  be- 
have towards  a  being  who  1  >athes  the  whole  woild.  and  his 
own  existence,  I  have  never  learned. 

Enter  the  Stranger,  from  Lodge. 

Stra.  (r.)  Now  ;  what's  your  will  ] 
Bar.  (l.)  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  for — [Suddenly  recognizing 
him.]  Charles  ! 

Stra.  Steinfort !  [They  embrace. 

Bar.  Is  it  really  you,  my  dear  friend  *? 
Stra.  It  is. 

Bar.  Merciful  Heavens  !    How  you  are  altered  ! 

Stra.  The  hand  of  misery  lies  heavy  on  me.  But  how 
came  you  here]    What  want  you  ? 

Bar.  Strange!  Here  was  1  ruminating  how  to  address 
this  mysterious  recluse  ;  he  appears,  and  proves  to  be  my 
old  and  dearest  friend. 

Stra.  Then  you  were  not  in  search  of  me,  nor  knew 
that  I  lived  here  'i 

Bar.  As  little  as  I  know  who  lives  on  the  summit  of 
Caucasus.  You  this  morning  saved  the  life  of  my  brother- 
in-law's  only  son  :  a  grateful  family  wishes  to  behold  you 
in  its  circle.  You  refused  my  sister's  messenger  ;  there- 
fore, to  give  more  weight  to  the  invitation,  I  was  deputed 
to  be  the  bearer  of  it.  And  thus  has  fortune  restored  to 
me  a  friend,  whom  my  heart  has  so  long  missed,  and  whom 
my  heart  just  now  so  much  requires. 

Stra.  Yes,  I  am  your  friend  ;  your  sincere  friend.  You 
are  a  true  man;  an  uncommon  mail.  Towards  you,  my 
heart  ia  stili  the  same.  But  if  this  assurance  be  of  any 
value  to  you — go — leave  me — and  return  no  more. 

Bar.  Stay  !  All  that  1  see  and  hear  of  you,  is  inexpli- 
cable. 'Tis  you  ;  but  these,  alas  !  are  not  the  features 
which  once  enchanted  «very  female  bosom,  beamed  gaiety 
through  all  society,  and  won  you  friends  before  your  lip3 
were  opened  !  Why  do  you  avert  your  face  ]  Is  the 
sight  of  a  friend  become  hateful  ?  Or,  do  you  fear  that  I 
should  read  in  your  eye  what  passes  in  your  soul  ]  Where 
is  that  open  look  of  fire,  winch  at  once  penetrated  into 
«)veiy  heart  and  revealed  your  own  ? 


tt.XVH  I.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


43 


Stra.  |  With  asperity. j  My  look  penet.  ate  into  eveiy 
heart ! — Ha  !  ha  !  ha ! 

Bar.  Oh,  Heavens  !  Rather  may  I  never  hear  you 
laugh,  than  in  such  a  tono  ! — For  Heaven's  sake,  tell  me, 
Charles!  tell  me,  I  conjure  you,  what  has  happened  to 
yon  1 

Stra.  Things  that  happen  every  day  ;  occurrences  heard 
of  in  every  street.  Steinfott,  if  I  am  not  to  hate  you,  ask 
me  not  another  question.    If  I  am  to  love  you,  leave  me. 

Bar.  Oh,  Charles  !  awake  the  faded  ideas  of  past  joys. 
Feel  that;  a  friend  is  near.  Recollect  the  days  we  passed 
in  Hunorr.ry,  when  we  wandered  arm  in  arm  upon  the  banks 
of  thf.  Danube,  while  nature  opened  our  hearts,  and  made 
us  enamored  of  benevolence  and  friendship.  In  those 
blessed  moments,  you  gave  me  this  seal  as  a  pledge  of  youx 
regard.    Do  you  remember  it  ? 

Stra.  Yes. 

Bar.  Am  I,  since  that  time,  become  less  worthy  of  your 
confidence  ? 
Stra.  No  ! 

Bar.  Charles  !  it  grieves  me  that  I  am  thus  compelled 
te  enforce  my  rights  upon  you.    Do  you  know  this  scar  1 

Stra.  Comrade  !  Friend  !  It  received  and  resisted  the 
stroke  aimed  at  my  life.  I  have  not  forgotten  it.  You 
knew  not  what  a  present  you  then  made  me. 

Bar.  Speak,  then,  I  beseech  you. 

Stra.  You  cannot  help  me. 

Bar.  Then  I  can  mourn  with  you. 

Stra.  That  I  hate.    Besides,  I  cannot  weep. 

Bar.  Then  give  me  words  instead  of  tears.  Both  re- 
lieve the  heart. 

Stra.  Relieve  the  heart !  My  heart  is  like  a  close-shut 
sepulchre.  Let  what  is  within  it,  moulder  and  decay. 
Why,  why  open  the  wretched  charnel-house  to  spread  a 
pestilence  around  1 

Bar.  How  horrid  are  your  looks  !  For  shame  !  A  man 
like  you  thus  to  crouch  beneath  the  chance  of  fortune  ! 

Stra.  Steinfort !  I  did  think  that  the  opinion  of  all  man- 
kind was  alike  indifferent  to  me  ;  but  I  feel  that  it  is  not 
bo.  My  friend,  you  shall  not  quit  me  without  learning 
now  I  have  been  robbed  of  every  joy  which  life  afforded. 
Listen — Much  misery  rray  be  contained  in  few  words ! 


44 


THE  STRANGER 


[Ac*  IV 


Attracted  by  my  native  country,  I  quitted  you  and  the 
service.  What  }  leasing  pictures  did  I  form  of  a  life  em- 
ployed in  improving  society  and  diffusing  happiness  !  I  fix- 
ed on  Cassel  to  be  my  abode.  All  went  on  admirably.  ] 
found  friends.  At  length,  too,  I  found  a  wife  ;  a  lovely, 
innocent  creature,  scarce  sixteen  years  of  age.  Oh  !  how  I 
loved  her  !  She  bore  me  a  son  and  a  daughter.  Both  were 
endowed  by  nature  with  the  beauty  of  their  mother.  Ask 
me  not  how  I  loved  my  wife  and  children  !  Yes  ;  then, 
then  1  was  really  happy.  [  Wiping  his  c/jes.]  Ha  !  a  tear  !  I 
could  not  have  believed  it.  Welcome,  old  friends  !  'Twas 
long  since  we  have  known  each  other.  Well,  my  story  is 
nearly  ended.  One  of  my  friends,  for  whom  1  had  become 
engaged,  treacherously  lost  me  more  than  half  my  fortune. 
This  hurt  me.  I  was  obliged  to  retrench  my  expenses. 
Contentment  needs  but  little.  I  forgave  him.  Another 
friend — a  villain  !  to  whom  I  was  attached  heart  and  soul ; 
whom  I  had  assisted  with  my  means,  and  promoted  by  my 
interest,  this  fiend  !  seduced  my  wife,  and  bore  her  from 
me.  Tell  me,  sir,  is  this  enough  to  justify  my  hatred  of 
mankind,  and  palliate  my  seclusion  from  the  world  1 — 
Kings,  laws,  tyranny,  or  guilt,  can  but  imprison  me,  or  kill 
me.  But,  O  God  !  O  God  !  Oh  !  what  are  chains  or 
death,  compared  to  the  tortures  of  a  deceived,  yet  doting 
husband!  [  Crosses ,  l  . 

Bar.  To  lament  the  loss  of  a  faithless  wife  is  madness. 

Stra.  Call  it  what  you  please — say  what  you  please — I 
love  her  still. 

Bar.  And  where  is  she  ] 

Stra.  L  know  not,  nor  do  I  wish  to  know. 

Bar.  And  your  children  ] 

Stra.  I  left  them  at  a  small  town  hard  by. 

Bar.  But  why  did  you  not  keep  your  children  with  you  T 
They  would  have  amused  you  in  many  a  dreary  hour. 

Stra.  Amused  me  !  Oh,  yes  !  while  their  likeness  to 
their  mothei,  should  every  hour  remind  me  of  my  past 
happiness!  No.  For  three  years  I  have  never  seen  them. 
I  hate  that  any  human  creature  should  be  near  me,  young 
or  old  !  Had  not  ridiculous  habit  made  a  servant  neces- 
sary, 1  should  never  have  engaged  him,  though  he  is  not 
the  worst  among  the  bad. 

Bar.  buch  too  often  are  the  consequences  of  great  alii- 


ScehcI.]  THE  STRANGER.  45 

ances.    Therefore,  Charles,  I  have  resolved  tc  take  a  wife 
from  a  lower  rank  of  life. 
Stra.  You  marry  ! 

Bar.  You  shall  see  her.  She  is  in  the  house  where  you 
are  expected.    Come  with  me. 

Stra,  What !    I  mix  again  with  the  world  ! 

Bar.  To  do  a  generous  action  without  requiring  thanks 
is  noble  and  praiseworthy.  But  so  obstinately  to  avoid 
those  thanks,  as  to  make  the  kindness  a  burthen,  is  affec- 
tation. 

Stra.  Leave  me  !  leave  me  !  Every  one  tries  to  form  a 
circle,  of  which  he  may  be  the  centre  :  so  do  I.  A3  long 
as  there  remains  a  bird  in  these  woods  to  greet  the  rising 
sun  \\  i tli  its  melody  I  shall  court  no  other  society.  [  Crosses  it. 

Bar.  Do  as  you  please  to-morrow ;  but  give  me  your 
companv  this  evening. 

Stra,  No! 

Bar.  Not  though  it  were  in  your  power,  by  this  single 
visit,  to  secure  the  happiness  of  your  friend  for  life  1 

Slra.  Ha  !    Then  I  must. — But  how  1 

Bar.  You  shall  sue  in  my  behalf  to  Mrs.  Haller.  You 
have  the  talent  of  persuasion. 

Stra.  I !  my  dear  Steinfort ! 

Bar.  The  happiness  or  misery  of  your  friend  depends 
upon  it.  I'll  contrive  that  you  shall  speak  to  her  alone. 
Will  you  ] 

Stra.  I  will ;  but  upon  one  condition. 

Bar.  Name  it. 

Stra.  That  you  allow  me  to  be  gone  to-morrow,  and  not 
endeavor  to  detain  me. 
Bar.  Go  !    Whither  1 

Stra.  No  matter.    Promise  this,  or  I  will  not  come. 
Bar.  Well,  I  do  promise.  Come. 

Stra.  I  have  directions  to  give  my  servant.   [Crosses,  l. 

Bar.  In  half  an  hour,  then,  we  shall  expect  you.  lie- 
member,  you  have  given  your  word. 

Stra.  I  have.  \  Exit  Baron  through  gates.  The  Stranger 
walks  up  and  down,  thoughtful  and  melancholy  J  Francis  ! 
F rancis  ! 

Enter  Francis,  from  Lodge, 
Stra.  Why  are  you  out  of  the  way  ] 


46 


THE  STRANGER 


I  Act  I* 


Fra.  Sir,  I  came  when  I  heard  you  ca  1. 

Stra.  I  shall  leave  this  place  to-morrow. 

Fra.  With  all  my  heart. 

Stra.  Perhaps  to  go  into  another  land. 

Fra.  With  all  my  heart  again. 

Stra.  Perhaps  into  another  quarter  of  the  globe. 

Fra.  With  all  my  heart  still.    Into  which  quarter  ? 

Stra.  Wherever  Heaven  directs  !  Away  !  away  !  from 
Europe  !  From  this  cultivated  moral  lazaret!  Do  you 
hear,  Francis  1    To-morrow,  early. 

Fra.  Very  well.  [Going. 

Stra.  Come  here,  come  here  first,  I  have  an  errand  for 
you.  Hire  that  carriage  in  the  village  ;  drive  to  the  town 
hard  by  ;  you  may  be  back  by  sunset.  I.  shall  give  you  a 
letter  to  a  widow  who  lives  there.  With  her  you  will  find 
two  children.    They  are  mine. 

Fra.  [Astonished.]  Your  children,  sir  1 

Stra.  Take  them  and  bring  them  hither. 

Fra.  Your  children,  sir  ] 

Stra.  Yes,  mine  !    Is  it  so  very  inconceivable  1 

Fra.  That  1  should  have  been  three  years  in  your 
service,  and  never  have  heard  them  mentioned,  is  some- 
what strange. 

Stra.  Pshaw  !    Blockhead  ! — 

Fra.  You  have  been  married,  then  1 

Stra.  Well — go,  go,  and  prepare  for  our  journey. 

Fra.  That  I  can  do  in  five  minutes.  [Going. 

Stra.  I  shall  come  and  write  the  letter  directly. 

Fra.  Very  well,  sir.  [Exit,  l. 

Stra.  Yes,  I'll  take  them  with  me.  I'll  accustom  my- 
self to  the  sight  of  them.  The  innocents  !  they  shall  not 
be  poisoned  by  the  refinements  of  society.  Rather  let  thorn 
hunt  their  daily  sustenance  upon  some  desert  island  with 
their  bow  and  arrow ;  or  creep,  like  torpid  Hottentots,  in- 
to a  corner,  and  stare  at  each  other.  Better  to  do  nothing 
than  to  do  evil.  Fool  that  I  was,  to  be  prevailed  upon 
once  more  to  exhibit  myself  among  these  apes  !  What  a 
ridiculous  figure  shall  I  make  !  And  in  the  character  of  a 
suitor,  too.  He  cannot  be  serious  !  'Tis  but  some  friend- 
ly artifice  to  draw  rrie  from  my  solitude.  Why  did  I  pro- 
mise him  ]  Yet,  my  sufferings  have  been  many  :  and  to 
oblige  a  friend,  why  should  I  hesitate  to  add  another  pain- 


Scum:  II.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


47 


'?ul  hour  to  the  wretched  calendar  of  my  life  !  I'll  go,  I'll 
\o.  [Exit  into  Lodge 

Scene  II. — The  Antichambcr. 

Enter  Charlotte,  r. 

Char.  No,  indeed,  my  lady  !  If  you  choose  to  bury 
yourself  in  the  country,  I  shall  take  my  leave.  I  am  not 
calculated  for  a  country  life.  And,  to  sum  up  all,  when  I 
think  of  this  Mrs.  Haller  

Enter  Solomon,  l. 

Sol.  [Overhearing  her  last  words.]  What  of  Mrs.  Haller, 
my  sweet  Miss  \ 

Char.  Why,  Mr.  Solomon,  who  is  Mrs.  Haller1?  You 
know  everything  ;  you  hear  everything. 

Sol.  I  have  received  no  letters  from  any  part  of  Europe 
on  the  subject,  Miss. 

Char.  But  who  is  to  blame  1  The  Count  and  Countess. 
She  dines  with  them  ;  and  at  this  very  moment  is  drinking 
tea  with  them.    Is  this  proper  ] 

Sol.  By  no  means. 

Char.  Should  not  a  Count  and  Countess,  in  all  their  ac- 
tions, show  a  proper  degree  of  pride  and  pomposity  % 

Sol.  To  be  sure  !     To  be  sure,  they  should  ! 

Char.  No,  I  won't  submit  to  it.  I'll  tell  her  ladyship, 
when  I  dress  her  to-morrow,  that  either  Mrs.  Haller  or  1 
must  quit  the  house. 

Sol.  [Seeing  the  Ba?'o?(.]  St ! 

Enter  Baron,  r. 

Bar.  Did'nt  I  hear  Mrs.  Haller's  name  here  % 

Sol.  [Confused.]  Why — yes — we — we — 

Bar.  Charlotte,  tell  my  sister  I  wish  to  see  her  as  soon 
as  the  tea-table  is  removed.  [Crosses,  l. 

Char.  Either  she  or  I  go,  that  I'm  determined.  [Exit,  r. 

Bar.  May  I  ask  what  it  was  you  were  saying  ] 

Sol.  Why,  please  your  Honourable  Lordship,  we  weiQ 
talking  here  and  there — this  and  that — 

Bar.  I  almost  begin  to  suspect  some  secret. 

Sol.  Secret!  Heaven  forbid  !  Mercy  on  us  !  No!  I 
should  have  had  letters  on  the  subject  if  there  had  been  t 
secret. 


43 


THE  STRANGER. 


[Act  IV 


Bar.  Well,  then,  since  it  was  no  secret,  I  presume  I  may 
know  your  conversation. 

Sol  You  do  us  great  honour,  my  lord.  -Why,  then,  at 
first,  we  were  making  a  few  common-place  observations. 
Miss  Charlotte  remarked  we  all  had  our  faults.  I  said, 
Yes."  Soon  after,  I  remarked  that  the  best  persona  in 
the  world  «*ere  not  without  their  weaknesses.  She  said, 
"  Yes." 

Bar.  Y  you  referred  to  Mrs.  Haller' s  faults  and  weak 
nesses,  1  im  desirous  to  hear  more. 

Sol.  $  ire  enough,  sir,  Mrs.  Haller  is  an  excellent  wo- 
man ;  1  it  she's  not  an  angel,  for  all  that.  I  am  an  old 
faithful  srvant  to  his  Excellency  the  Count,  and  therefore 
it  is  my  bity  to  speak  when  anything  is  done  disadvanta 
geous  t    his  interest. 

Bar.  iVell! 

Sol.  'or  instance,  now  ;  his  Excellency  may  think  he 
has  at  1  ast  some  score  of  dozens  of  the  old  six-and-twenty 
hock.  Vlercy  on  us  !  There  are  not  ten  dozen  bottles 
left ;  &  d  not  a  drop  has  gone  down  my  throat,  I  '11  swear. 

Ba     \ Smiling.]  Mrs.  Haller  has  not  drank  it,  I  suppose  ? 

*SV  .  Not  she  herself,  for  she  never  drinks  wine.    But  if 
any)  jdy  be  ill  in  the  village,  any  poor  woman  lying-in, 
aw?  /  goes  a  bottle  of  the  six-and-twenty  !  Innumerable 
ar?  Jie  times  that  I've  reproved  her  ;   but  she  always  an- 
;rs  me  snappishly,  that  she  will  be  responsible  for  it. 
3ar.  So  will  I,  Mr.  Solomon. 

Sol.  Oh!  with  all  my  heart,  your  Honourable  Lordship. - 
}_ .  makes  no  difference  to  me.    I  had  the  care  of  the  cellar 
i  veuty  years,  and  can  safely  take  my  oath,  that  I  never 
ave  the  poor  a  single  drop  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life. 

Bar.  How  extraordinary  is  this  woman  !        [Crosses,  r. 

Sol.  Extraordinary  !  One  can  make  nothing  of  her. 
'}  D-day,  the  vicar's  wife  is  not  good  enough  for  her.  To- 

oitow,  you  may  see  lier  sitting  with  all  the  women  in  the 
v'lage.  To  be  sure,  she  and  1  agree  pretty  well;  for  be- 
>.ween  me  and  your  Honourable  Lordship,  she  has  cast  an 
■rye  upon  my  son  Peter. 

Bar.  Has  she  ] 

Sol.  Yes — Peter's  no  fool,  I  assure  you.  The  school- 
master is  teaching  him  to  write.  Would  your  Honourable 
Lordship  please  to  see  a  specimen  1  I'll  go  for  his  copy- 
book.   He  makes  his  pot-hooks  capitally. 


fiCEKE  XI.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


Bar.  Another  time,  another  time.  Good  I  ye  for  the 
present,  Mr:  Solomon.  [Solomon  bows  without  attempting  to 
go.\   Good  day,  Mr.  Solomon. 

Sol.  [Not  understanding  the  hint.]  Your  Honourable 
lordship's  most  obedient  servant. 

Bar.  Mr.  Solomon,  I  wish  to  be  alone. 

Sol.  As  your  lordship  commands.  If  the  time  should 
seem  long  in  my  absence,  and  your  lordship  wishes  to  hear 
the  newest  news  from  the  seat  of  war,  you  need  only  send 
lor  old  Solomon.  I  have  letters  from  Leghorn,  Cape  Horn, 
and  every  known  part  of  the  habitable  globe.       [Exit,  l. 

Bar.  Tedious  old  fool !  Yet  hold.  Did  he  not  speak 
in  praise  of  Mrs.  Haller]  Pardoned  be  his  rage  for  news 
and  politics. 

Enter  Countess,  ft. 

Well,  sister,  have  you  spoken  to  her  ] 

Countess.  I  have  :  and  if  you  do  not  steer  for  another 
haven,  you  will  be  doomed  t^  drive  upon  the  ocean  for 
ever. 

Bar.  Is  she  married  ] 

Countess.  I  don't  know. 

Bar.  Is  she  cf  a  good  family] 

Countess.  I  can't  tell. 

Bar.  Does  she  dislike  me  ] 

Countess.  Excuse  my  making  a  reply. 

Bar.  I  thank  you  for  your  sisterly  affection,  and  the  ex- 
plicitness  of  your  communications.  Luckily,  I  placed  lit- 
tle reliance  on  either;  and  have  found  a  friend,  who  will 
save  your  ladyship  all  further  trouble. 

Countess.  A  friend  ! 

Bar.  Yes.  The  Stranger,  who  saved  your  son's  life  this 
morning,  proves  to  be  my  intimate  friend. 

Countess.  What's  his  name  ? 

Bar.  I  don't  know. 

Countess.  Is  he  of  good  family  ? 

Bar,  1  can't  tell. 

Countess.  Will  he  come  hither] 

Bar.  Excuse  my  making  a  reply. 

Countess.  Well,  the  retort  is  fair — but  insufferable. 

Bar.  You  can't  object  to  the  Da  Capo  of  your  own  com- 
position. 


00 


THE  STRANBER. 


[Act  It 


Enter  Count  and  Mrs.  Haller,  r. 

Count.  Zounds  !  do  you  think  I  am  Xenoc rates  ;  or  like 
the  poor  sultan  with  marble  legs  ]  There  you  leave  me, 
tete-a-tete  with  Mrs.  Haller,  as  if  my  heart  were  a  mere 
flint.  So  you  prevailed,  brother.  The  Stranger  will  come 
then,  it  seems. 

Bar.  I  expect  him  every  minute. 

Count.  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  One  companion  more,  how- 
ever.   In  the  country,  we  never  can  have  too  many. 

Bar.  This  gentleman  will  not  exactly  be  an  addition  to 
your  circle,  for  he  leaves  this  place  to-morrow. 

[Crosses  behind  Mrs.  Haller,  r. 

Count.  But  he  won't,  I  think.  Now,  Lady  Wintersen, 
summon  all  your  charms.  There  is  no  art  in  conquering 
us  poor  devils ;  but  this  strange  man  who  does  not  care  a 
doit  for  you  all  together,  is  worth  your  efforts.  Try  your 
skill.    1  shan't  be  jealous. 

Countess.  I  allow  the  conquest  to  be  worth  the  trouble. 
But  what  Mrs.  Haller  has  not  been  able  to  effect  in  three 
months,  ought  not  to  be  attempted  by  me. 

Mrs.  IT.  Oh,  madam,  he  has  given  me  no  opportunity 
of  trying  the  force  of  my  charms,  for  I  never  once  happen- 
ed to  see  him. 

Count.  Then  he's  a  blockhead  ;  and  you  an  idler. 

Sol.  [  Without,  l.]  This  way,  sir  !    This  way  ! 

Enter  Solomon,  l. 

Sol.  The  Stranger  begs  leave  to  have  the  honour — 
Count.  Welcome  !     Welcome  !  [Exit  Solomon. 

|  Runs  to  meet  the  Stranger,  ichomhc  conducts  in  by  the. 
hand. 

My  dear  sir — Lady  Wintersen — Mrs.  Haller — 

[Mrs.  Halier,  as  soon  as  she  sees  the  Stranger,  shrieks,  and 
swoons  in  the  arms  of  tJie  Baron.  The  Stranger  casts  a 
look  at  her,  and,  struck  with  astonishment  and  horror, 
rushes  out  of  the  room,  l.  The  Baron  and  Countess 
bear  Mrs.  Haller  off,  r.  ;  Count  following  in  great  sur 
prise. 


END  OF  ACT  IT. 


8cm  I.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


51 


ACT  V  . 

Scene  L — The  Antichambcr. 

Enter  Baron,  r. 

Bar.  Oh !  deceitful  hope  !  Thou  phantom  of  fi  ture 
happiness.  To  thee  have  I  stretched  out  my  arms,  and 
thou  hast  vanished  into  air  !  Wretched  Steinfort !  Tho 
mystery  is  solved.  She  is  the  wife  of  my  friend  !  I  can- 
not myself  be  happy  ;  but  I  may,  perhaps,  be  able  to  re- 
unite two  lovely  souls  whom  cruel  fate  has  severed.  Ha  ! 
they  are  here.    I  must  propose  it  instantly. 

Enter  Countess  and  Mrs.  Haller,  r. 

Comitcss.  Into  the  garden,  my  dear  friend  !  Into  the 
air  ! 

Mrs.  H.  I  am  quite  well.  Do  not  alarm  yourselves  on 
my  account. 

Bar.  Madam,  pardon  my  intrusion;  but  to  lose  a  mo- 
ment may  be  fatal.  He  means  to  quit  the  country  to-mor- 
row.   We  must  devise  means  to  reconcile  you  to  the  Stran- 

ser- 

Mrs.  22.  How,  my  lord !  You  seem  acquainted  with 
my  history  ] 

Bar.  I  am.  Waldbourg  has  been  my  friend  ever  since 
we  were  boys.  We  served  together  from  the  rank  of  ca- 
det. We  have  been  separated  seven  years.  Chance 
brought  us  this  day  together,  and  his  heart  was  open  to 
me. 

Mrs.  H.  How  do  I  feel  what  it  is  to  be  in  the  presence 
of  an  honest  man,  when  I  dare  not  meet  his  eye. 

Bar.  If  sincere  repentance,  if  years  without  reproach, 
do  not  give  us  a  title  to  man's  forgiveness,  what  must  we 
expect  hereafter]  No,  lovely  penitent !  your  contrition  is 
complete.  Error  for  a  moment  wrested  fron  slumbering 
virtue  the  dominion  of  your  heart;  but  she  awoke,  and, 
with  a  look,  banished  her  enemy  forever.  1  know  my 
friend.  He  has  the  firmness  of  a  man  ;  but,  with  it,  the 
gentlest  feelings  of  your  sex.  I  hasten  to  him.  With  the 
fire  of  pure,  disinterested  friendship  will  I  enter  on  this 
work;  that,  when  I  look  back  upon  my  past  life,  I  may 


62 


THE  STRANGER. 


derive  from  this  good  action  consolation  in  disappointment, 
and  even  resign ation  in  despair.  \Goirtg,  l. 

Mrs.  II.  [Crosses,  c.]  Oh,  stay  !     What  would  you  do  ] 
No  !  never  !    My  husband's  honour  is  sacred  to  me.  I 
love  him  unutterably  :   but  never,  never  can  I  be  his  wife 
again  ;  even  if  he  were  generous  enough  to  pardon  me. 
Bar.  Madam  !    Can  yon,  Countess,  be  serious  ] 
Mrs.  II.  Not  that  title,  I  beseech  you  !    I  am  not  a  child 
who  wishes  to  avoid  deserved  punishment.    What  were 
rnv  penitence,  if  1  hoped  advantage  from  it  beyond  the 
consciousness  of  atonement  for  past  offence  ? 
Countess.  But  'f  your  husband  himself"? — 
Mrs,  H.  0!i!   ce  will  not!   he  cannot!    And  let  him 
re*t  assured  I  never  would  replace  my  honour  at  the  ex 
pense  of  his. 

Bar.  He  still  loves  you. 

Mrs.  H.  Loves  me  !  Then  lie  must  not — no — he  mnst 
purify  his  heart  from  a  weakness  which  would  degrade 
him ! 

Bar.  Incomparable  woman  !  I  go  to  my  friend — per- 
il aps  for  the  last  time  !  Have  you  not  one  word  to  send 
bim  ? 

Mrs.  H.  Yes,  I  have  two  requests  to  make.  Often, 
when,  in  excess  of  grief,  I  h;ive  despaired  of  every  conso- 
lation, 1  have  thought  I  should  be  easier  if  1  might  behold 
my  husband  once  again,  acknowledge  my  injustice  to  him, 
and  take  a  gentle  leave  of  him  forever.  This,  therefore, 
is  my  first  request — a  conversation  for  a  few  short  minutes, 
if  lie  does  not  quite  abhor  the  sight  of  me.  My  second 
request  is — Oh — not  to  see,  but  to  hear  some  account  of 
lay  pom-  children. 

Bar.  If  humanity  and  fiiendship  can  avail,  he  will  not. 
for  a  moment  delay  your  wishes. 

Countess.  Heaven  be  with  you  ! 

Mrs.  II.  And  my  prayers,  f Exit  Baron,  L. 

Countess.  Come,  my  friend,  come  into  the  air,  till  he 
returns  with  hope  and  consolation. 

Mrs.  II.  Oh.  my  heart!  how  art  thou  afflicted!  My 
husband  !  My  little  ones  !  Past  joys  and  future  fears. — 
Oh,  dearest  madam,  there  are  moments  in  which  we  live 
years  !  moments  which  steal  the  roses  from  the  cheek  of 
health,  and  plough  deep  furrows  in  the  brow  of  youth. 


Scene  II.] 


THE  STRANGER. 


53 


Countess,  Banish  these  sad  reflections.  [Grosses,  L.]— 
Come,  let  us  walk.  The  sun  will  set  soon  ;  let  nature's 
beauties  dissipate  anxiety. 

Mrs.  II.  Alas  !  Yes,  the  setting  sun  is  a  proper  scene 
for  me. 

Countess.  Never  forget  that  a  morning  will  succeed. 

[Exeunt  l. 

Scene  II. —  The  Skirts  of  the  Park,  Lodge,  fyc,  as  before. 

Enter  Baron,  from  Gates. 

Bar.  On  earth,  there  is  but  one  such  pair.  They  shall 
not  be  parted.  Yet  what  I  have  undertaken  is  not  so  easy 
as  I  at  first  hoped.  What  can  I  answer  when  he  asks  me, 
whether  I  would  persuade  him  to  renounce  his  character, 
and  become  the  derision  of  society  ]  For  he  is  right :  a 
faithless  wife  is  a  dishonor  !  and  to  forgive  her,  is  to  share 
her  shame.  What  though  Adelaide  may  be  an  exception ; 
a  young  deluded  girl,  who  has  so  long  and  so  sincerely  re- 
pented ;  yet  what  cares  an  unfeeling  world  for  this  1  The 
world  !  He  has  quitted  it,  'Tis  evident  he  loves  her  still; 
and  upon  this  assurance  builds  my  sanguine  heart  the  hope 
of  a  happy  termination  to  an  honest  enterprise. 

Enter  Francis  with  two  children,  William  and  Amelia,  r. 

Fra.  (r.  c.)  Come  along,  my  pretty  ones — come. 

Will.  (l.  c.)  Is  it  far  to  home  ? 

Fra.  No,  we  shall  be  there  directly  now. 

Bar.  (l.)  Hold  !    Whose  children  are  these  1 

Fra.  My  master's. 

WUl.  Is  that  my  father  1 

Bar.  It  darts  like  lightning  through  my  brain.  A  word 
with  you.  [Francis  puts  the  children  a  little  back.]  I  know 
you  love  your  master.  Strange  things  have  happened 
here.    Your  master  has  found  his  wife  again. 

Fra.  Indeed!    Glad  to  hear  it. 

Bar.  Mrs.  Haller — 

Fra.  Is  she  his  wife  1    Still  more  glad  to  heai  it. 
Bar.  But  he  is  determined  to  go  from  her. 
Fra.  Oh  ! 

Bar.  We  must  try  to  prevent  it. 
Fra.  Sirely. 


64 


THE  STRANGER. 


I.A.CT  ▼ 


Bar.  The  unexpected  appearance  of  tlie  children  may 
perhaps  assist  us. 
Fra.  How  so  1 

Bar.  Hide  yourself  with  them  in  that  hut.    Before  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  is  passed,  you  shall  know  more. 
Fra.  But — 

Bar.  No  more  questions,  T  entreat  you  Time  is  pre- 
cious. 

Fra.  Well,  well :  questions  are  not  much  in  my  way. 
Come,  children.  [Takes  them  in  each  hand. 

Will.  Why,  I  thought  you  told  me  I  should  see  my  fa- 
ther ? 

Fra.  So  you  shall,  my  dear.    Come,  moppets. 

[Goes  into  the  Hut  icith  the  Children,  L.  u.  e. 

Bar.  Excellent !  I  promise  myself  much  from  this  little 
artifice.  If  the  mild  look  of  the  mother  fails,  the  innocent 
smiles  of  these,  his  own  children,  will  surely  find  the  way 
to  his  heart.  [Taps  at  the  Lodge  door :  the  Stranger  comes 
out.]  Charles,  I  wish  you  joy. 

Stra.  Of  what? 

Bar.  You  have  found  her  again. 

Stra.  Show  a  bankrupt  the  treasure  which  he  once  pos- 
sessed, and  then  congratulate  him  on  the  amount ! 

Bar.  Why  not,  if  it  be  in  your  power  to  retrieve  the 
whole  1 

Stra.  I  understand  you  :  you  are  a  negociator  from  my 
wife.    It  won't  avail. 

Bar.  Learn  to  know  your  wife  better.  Yes,  I  am  a 
messenger  from  her  ;  but  without  power  to  treat.  She, 
who  loves  you  unutterably,  who  without  you  never  can 
be  happy,  renounces  your  forgiveness  ;  because,  as  she 
thinks,  your  honour  is  incompatible  with  such  a  weakness. 

Stra.  Pshaw  !    I  am  not  to  be  caught. 

Bar.  Charles  !  consider  well — 

Stra.  Steinfort,  let  me  explain  all  this.  I  have  lived 
here  three  years.    Adelaide  knew  it. 

Bar.  Knew  it !  She  never  saw  you  till  to-day, 
Stra.  That  you  may  make  fools  believe.  Hear  further: 
6ht;  knows,  too,  that  I  am  not  a  common  sort  of  man  ;  that 
my  heart  is  not  to  be  attacked  in  the  usual  manner.  She, 
therefore,  framed  a  deep-concerted  plan.  She  played  a 
charitable  part ;  but  in  such  a  way,  that  it  always  reached 


Sce.ce  II.]  THE  STRANGER.  OT 

my  ears.  She  played  a  pious,  modest,  reserved  part,  io 
order  to  excite  my  curiosity.  And,  at  last,  to-day  she  plays 
the  prude.  She  refuses  my  forgiveness,  in  hopes,  by  this 
generous  device,  to  extort  it  from  my  compassion. 

Bar.  Charles  !  I  have  listened  to  you  with  astonishment. 
This  is  a  weakness  only  to  be  pardoned  in  a  man  who  has 
so  often  been  deceived  by  the  world.  Your  wTife  has  ex- 
pressly and  steadfastly  declared,  that  she  will  not  accept 
your  forgiveness,  even  if  you  yourself  were  weak  enough 
to  offer  it. 

Stra.  What  then  has  brought  you  hither  ] 

Bar.  More  than  one  reason.  First,  I  am  come  in  my 
own  name,  as  your  friend  and  comrade,  to  conjure  you 
solemnly  not  to  spurn  this  creature  from  you ;  for,  by  my 
soul,  you  will  not  find  her  equal. 

Stra.  Give  yourself  no  further  trouble. 

Bar.  Be  candid,  Charles.     You  love  her  still  1 

Stra.  Alas !  yes. 

Bar.  Her  sincere  repentance  has  long  since  obliterated 
her  crime. 

Stra.  Sir  !  a  wife,  once  induced  to  forfeit  her  honour, 
must  be  capable  of  a  second  crime. 

Bar.  Not  so,  Charles.  Ask  your  heart  what  portion  of 
the  blame  may  be  your  own. 

Stra.  Mine] 

Bar.  Yours.  Who  told  you  to  marry  a  thoughtless  in« 
experienced  girl  1  One  scarce  expects  established  princi- 
ples at  five-and-twenty  in  a  man,  yet  you  require  them  it? 
a  girl  of  sixteen  !  But  of  this  no  more.  She  has  erred  : 
she  has  repented  ;  and,  during  three  years,  her  conduct, 
has  been  so  far  above  reproach,  that  even  the  piercing  eye 
of  calumny  has  not  discovered  a  speck  upon  this  radianf 
orb. 

Stra.  Now,  were  I  to  believe  all  this — and  1  confess 
1  would  willingly  believe  it — yet  she  can  never  again  bo 
mine.  Ah  !  what  a  feast  would  it  be  for  the  painted  dolls 
and  vermin  of  the  world,  when  I  appeared  among  them 
with  my  runaway  wife  upon  my  arm  !  What  mocking, 
whispering,  pointing  ! — Never  !    Never  !    Never  ! 

[Crosses,  L, 

Bar.  Enough  !  As  a  friend  I  have  done  my  duty  ;  I  now 
appear  as  Adelaide's  ambassador.    She  requests  one  mo- 


56 


THE  STRANGER. 


I  Act  ▼ 


merit's  conversation  :  she  wishes  once  again  to  see  you,  and 
never  more  !  You  cannot  deny  her  this  only,  this  last  it> 
quest. 

Stra,  I  understand  this  too  :  she  thinks  my  firmness  wilj 
be  melted  by  her  tears  :  she  is  mistaken.    She  may  come. 

Bar.  She  will  come  to  make  you  feel  how  much  you 
mistake  her.    I  go  for  her. 

Stra.  Another  word. 

Bar.  Another  word  ! 

Stra.  Give  her  this  paper,  and  these  jewels.  They  be- 
long to  her.  [Presenting  them. 

Bar.  That  you  may  do  yourself.  [Exit  at  Gate,  c. 

Stra.  The  last  anxious  moment  of  my  life  draws  near. 
I  shall  see  her  once  again  ;  I  shall  see  her  on  whom  my 
soul  doats.  Is  this  the  language  of  an  injured  husband  1 
What  is  this  principle  which  we  call  honor  1  Is  it  a  feel- 
ing of  the  heart,  or  a  quibble  in  the  brain  ]  I  must  be  re- 
solute :  it  cannot  now  be  otherwise.  Let  me  speak  so- 
lemnly, yet  mildly  ;  and  beware  that  nothing  of  reproach 
escape  my  lips. 

Enter  Countess,  Mrs.  Haller,  and  Baron,  from  Gates. 

Yes,  her  penitence  is  real,  it  is  real.  She  shall  not  be 
obliged  to  live  in  mean  dependence  :  she  shall  be  mistress 
of  herself,  she  shall — Ha  !  they  come.  Awake,  insulted 
pride  !    Protect  me,  injured  honour  ! 

[Gets  over  to  r.  of  Stage. 

Mrs.  II.  [Advances  slowly,  and  in  a  trcmour,  l.  Countess 
attempts  to  support  her.}  Leave  me  now,  I  beseech  you. 
[  Baron  and  Countess  retire  into  the  hut,  l.  u.  e.  Approaches 
the  Stranger,  who,  with  averted  countenance,  and  in  extreme 
agitation,  awaits  her  address.]  My  lord  ! 

Stra.  [  With  gentle  tremulous  utterance,  and,  face  still  turn- 
ed away\  What  would  you  with  me,  Adelaide  1 

Mrs.  II.  \  Much  agitated.]  No — for  Heaven's  sake  !  I 
w  ^  not  prepared  for  this — Adelaide  ! — No,  no.  For 
Heaven's  sake  ! — Harsh  words  alone  are  suited,  to  a  cul- 
prit's ear. 

Stra.  [Endeavoring  to  give  his  voice  fnnncss  ]  Well,  ma- 
dam ! 

Mrs.  II.  Oh!  If  you  will  ease  my  heart,  if  you  will 
gf  are  urd  pity  me,  use  reproaches. 


Scm  II.] 


THE  STRANGER 


Stra.  Reproaches  :  Here  they  are  ;  here  on  my  sallow 
cheek — here  in  my  hollow  eye — here  in  my  faded  form. 
These  reproaches  1  could  not  spare  you. 

Mrs.  H.  Were  I  a  hardened  sinner,  this  forbearance 
would  be  chanty  :  but  I  am  a  suffering  penitent,  and  it 
overpowers  me  !  Alas  !  then  I  must  be  the  herald  of  my 
own  shame.  For  where  shall  I  find  peace  till  I  have  eased 
my  soul  by  my  confession. 

Stra.  No  confession,  madam.  I  release  you  from  every 
humiliation.  I  perceive  you  feel  that  we  must  part  for- 
ever. 

Mrs.  H.  I  know  it.  Nor  come  I  here  to  supplicate  your 
pardon  ;  nor  has  my  heart  contained  a  ray  of  hope  that 
you  would  grant  it.  All  I  dare  ask,  is,  that  you  will  not 
curse  my  memory. 

Stra.  No,  I  do  not  curse  you.    I  shall  never  curse  you. 

Mrs.  H.  From  the  inward  conviction  that  I  am  unworthy 
of  your  name,  I  have,  during  three  years,  abandoned  it. 
But  this  is  not  enough  ;  you  must  have  that  redress  which 
will  enable  you  to  choose  another — another  wife  ;  in  whose 
chaste  arms  may  Heaven  protect  your  hours  of  bliss!  This 
paper  will  be  necessary  for  the  purpose  ;  it  contains  a  writ- 
ten acknowledgment  of  my  guilt.      [Offers  it,  tremhling. 

Stra.  [  Tearing  it.\  Perish  the  record  for  ever  ! — No, 
Adelaide,  you  only  have  possessed  my  heart ;  and  I  am 
not  ashamed  to  own  it,  you  alone  will  reign  there  forever. 
— Your  own  sensations  of  virtue,  your  resolute  honour, 
forbid  you  to  profit  by  my  weakness  ;  and  even  if — this  is 
beneath  a  man  !  But — never — will  another  fill  Adelaide's 
place  here. 

Mrs.  II.  Then  nothing  now  remains  but  that  one  sad, 
hard,  just  word — farewell  !  [Going,  L. 

Stra.  Stay  a  moment.  For  some  months  we  have,  with- 
out knowing  it,  lived  near  each  other.  I  have  learnt  much 
good  of  you.  You  have  a  heart  open  to  the  wants  of  your 
fellow  creatures.  I  am  happy  that  it  is  so.  You  shall  not 
be  without  the  power  of  gratifying  your  benevolence.  1 
know  you  have  a  spirit  that  must  shrink  from  a  state  of 
obligation.  This  paper,  to  which  the  whole  remnant  of 
my  fortune  is  pledged,  secures  you  independence,  Ade- 
laide ;  and  let  the  only  recommendation  of  the  gift  be, 
that  it  will  administer  to  you  the  means  of  indulging  in 
charity^  the  divine  propensity  of  your  nature. 


58  THE  STRANGER.  [Act  ¥ 

Mrs.  H.  Never  !  To  the  labor  of  my  hands  afone  will 
I  owe  my  sustenance.  A  morsel  of  bread,  moistened  with 
the  tear  of  penitence,  will  suffice  my  wishes,"  and  exceed 
my  merits.  It  would  be  an  additional  reproach,  to  think 
that  J  served  myself,  or  even  others,  from  the  bounty  oi 
the  man  whom  I  had  so  deeply  injured. 

Stra.  Take  it,  madam;  take  it. 

Mrs.  H.  I  have  deserved  this.  But  I  throw  myself  up- 
n  your  generosity.    Have  compassion  on  me  ! 

Stra.  [Aside.}  Villain  !  Of  what  a  woman  hast  thou 
robbed  me  ! — [Puts  up  the  paper.]  Well,  madam,  I  respect 
your  sentiments  and  withdraw  my  request ;  but  on  condi- 
tion, that  if  ever  you  shall  be  in  want  of  anything,  I  may 
be  the  first  and  only  person  in  the  world  to  whom  you  will 
make  your  application. 

Mrs.  H.  I  promise  it,  my  lord. 

Stra.  And  now  I  may,  at  least,  desire  you  to  lake  back 
what  is  your  own — your  jewels.        [Gives  her  the  casket. 

Mrs.  H.  [Opens  it,  and  weeps.}  How  well  do  I  recollect 
the  sweet  evening  when  you  gave  me  these  !  That  eve- 
ning my  father  joined  our  hands  ;  and  joyfully  I  pronounc- 
ed the  oath  of  eternal  fidelity. — It  is  broken.  This  locket 
you  gave  me  on  my  birth-day. — That  was  a  happy  day  S 
We  had  a  country  feast — How  cheerful  we  all  were  ! — 
This  bracelet  I  received  after  my  William  was  born  ! — No  ! 
Take  them — take  them — I  cannot  take  these,  unless  you 
wish  that  the  sight  of  them  should  be  an  incessant  re- 
proach to  my  almost  broken  heart.        [Gives  them  back. 

Stra.  I  must  go.  My  soul  and  pride  will  hold  no  Ion 
ger.  Farewell. 

Mrs.  H.  Oh  !  But  one  minute  more  !  An  answer  to 
but  one  more  question. — Feel  for  a  mother's  heart ! — Are 
my  children  still  alive  \ 

Stra.  Yes,  they  are  alive. 

Mrs.  H.  And  well  % 

Stra.  Yes,  they  are  well. 

Mrs.  II.  Heaven  be  praised  !  William  must  be  much 
grown  1 

Stra.  I  believe  so. 

Mrs.  H.  What !  Have  you  not  seen  them,  then  1  And 
little  Amelia,  is  she  still  your  favorite  1  [  The  Stranger  ,2vho 
is  in  violent  agitation  throughout  this  scene,  remains  in  silent 


THE  STRANGER. 


69 


contention  between  honor  and  affection.]  Oh  !  generous  man, 
allow  me  to  behold  them  once  again  ! — Let  me  once  more 
kiss  ths  features  of  their  father  in  his  babes,  and  I  will 
k?ieel  to  you,  and  part  with  them  forever. 

[She  kneels — he  raises  her. 
Stra.  Willingly,  Adelaide  !  This  very  night.  I  expect 
the  children  every  minute.  They  have  been  brought  up 
near  this  spot.  I  have  already  sent  my  servant  for  them. 
He  might,  ere  this  time,  have  returned.  I  pledge  my 
word  to  send  them  to  the  Castle  as  soon  as  they  arrive. 
There,  if  you  please,  they  may  remain  till  daybreak  to- 
morrow :  then  they  must  go  with  me. 

[The  Countess  and  Baron,  having  re-entered  and  listened 
to  the  whole  conversation  with  the  warmest  sympathy, 
exchange  signals.  Baron  goes  into  the  Hut,  and  soon 
returns  with  the  Children.  He  gives  the  Girl  to  the 
Countess,  who  places  herself  behind  the  Stranger.  He 
himself  walks  with  the  Boy  beh  ind  Mrs.  Haller. 
Mrs.  H.  In  this  world,  then,  we  have  no  more  to  say  ! 

 [Seizing  his  hand.]  Forget  a  wretch  who  never  will 

forget  you. — Let  me  press  this  hand  once  morP  to  my  lips 
— this  hand  which  once  was  mine.  And  when  r*v  nenanee 
shall  have  broken  my  heart, — when  we  again  T»*tin  a 

better  world  

Stra.  There,  Adelaide,  you  may  be  mine  again. 

[ But,  as  they  are  going,  she  encounters  the  Boy,  and  Ac 
the  Girl. 

Children.  Dear  father  !    Dear  mother  ! 

[They  press  the  Children  in  their  arms  with  speechless  af 
feet  ion  ;  then  tear  themselves  away — gaze  at  each  ot/u 
— spread  their  arms  and  rush  into  an  embrace.  Th 
Children  run  and  cling  round  their  parents.    The  Cur 
tain  falls. 

DISPOSITION  Or  THE  CHARACTERS  AT  THE  FALL  Of 
THE  CURTAIN. 

Countess.  Baron. 
Amelia.  Stranger.  Mrs.  Haller.  WilXfJW, 


THE  END. 


MASSEY'S 

EXHIBITION  RECITER 

drawing-roomTntertainments. 

Being  choice  recitations  in  prose  and  verse,  together  with  an  unique 
collection  of 

PETITE  COMEDIES,  DRAMAS  Ax\D  FARCES, 

ADAPTED  FOR  THE  USE  OF  SCHOOLS  AND  FAMILIES, 
BY  CHARLES  MASSE Y, 

Professor  of  Elocution  at  Burlington  College,  N.  J.,  and  Mechanics' 
Society  School,  N.  Y. 


No.  1  Contains, 
Guy  Fawkes,  :«n  *'  Historical  Drama." 
The  Man  Wiih  the  Carpet  Bag,  "Farce." 
White  Horse  of  the   Peppers,  "  Comic 

Drama." 
Mesmerism,  "  Petite  Comedy," 
And  Twelve  selected  pieces. 


No.  2  Contains, 
Love  and  Jealousy,  '•Tragedy." 
The  Irish  Tutor,  "  Farce." 
Bombasies  Furioso,  '•  Burlesque  Opera." 
Sylvester  Dag»erwood,  "Comic  Inter- 
lude." 

School  for  Orators,  "Original  Comedy," 
And  F.i<:hleen  selected  pieces. 
Price  per  Number,  Paper  Covers,  25  Cents  each. 
The  Two  Numbers,  bound  in  Cloth,  school  style,  GO  Cents. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  number  of  voluminous  school  readers,  and 
speakers,  that  have  already  been   published,  there  still  exists  a  want, 
which  is  felt  by  all  who  delight  in  the  practice  of  recitation,  viz  .  a  col-  ! 
lection  of  humorous  and  pathetic   pieces,  in  prose  and  verse,  exactly  \ 
suitable  for  school  exhibitions,  and  social  entertainment  ;  this  want  has  | 
compelled  the  compiler,  during  a  long  course  of  teaching,  to  devote  con-  j 
siderable  time  in  gleaning  from    innumerable  sources,  for  the  especial 
use  of  his  own  pupils,  such  pieces  as  are  best  calculated  to  please  both 
the  reciter  and  the  audience  ;  and   he  believes  that  the  result  of  his 
labor  will  be  acceptable  to  those  who  wish  to  practice  the  important  art 
of  elocution,  either  for  amusement  or  emolument.    The  dramatic  pieces 
will  be  found  quite  an  original  feature,  inasmuch  as  they  are  not  mere 
extracts,  or  mutil  ited  scenes  ;  but  although  in  some  instances,  consider- 
ably altered  from  the  originals,  they  still  retain  an  entire  plot,  and  all 
the  wit  and  humor  that  could  consistently   be  preserved  ;  and  are  ar- 
ranged, and  adapted  especially  for  juvenile  representation — everything 
objectionable  .has  been  carefully  expunged,  and  they  have  in  their  -pre- 
sent form  received  the  unqualified  approbation  of  numerous  intellectual 
and  select  audiences,  before  whom  they  have  been  presented  by  the 
pupils  of  the  adapter. — Extract  from  the  Author  s  Preface 

S.  FRE\Cff, 
Publisher,  121  Nassau-street.  New  York. 
IVESO*  &  PHINNEY, 

321  Broadway,  New  York. 

S.  C.  GRIGGS  &  CO., 

Chicago,  111. 


No.  LXIX. 

FRENCH'S  STANDARD  DRAMA 


GISIPPUS: 

OR, 

THE  FORGOTTEN  FRIEND 

IN    FIVE  ACTS. 

BY  GERALD  GRIFFIN,  ESQ 


WITH  THE  STAGE  BUSINESS,  CAST  OF  CHARACTERS, 
COSTUMES,  RELATIVE  POSITIONS,  ETC. 


NEW-YORK : 

SAMUEL  FRENCH, 

121  NASSAU-STREET. 
mcB*  m  CENTS. 


CAST   OF  CHARACTERS. 


Drury  Lane,  1842.   Park,  1847.         Broadway,  1848. 

Oisippus   Mr.  Macrcady.   Mr.  Anderson.   Mr.  Anderson. 

Titm  Quin.  Fulvius   "    Anderson.     "    Dyott.         "  VandcnhoiE 

Med  on   "   Graham.       "    Stork.        "  Fredericks. 

Pheax   "    Elton.  n    S.Pearson.  "  "lilcDoualL 

Chremes   "    Hudson.       "    A.Andrews."  Dawson. 

Lycias   "    6.  Bennett.  "    Barry.         "  Kinsley. 

Norban   Miss  E.  Phillips.  Miss  Denny.      Mrs.  Sergeant. 

Davus   Mr.  W.  Bennett.  Mr.  Nelson.      Mr.  D.  C.  Anderson. 

Dccius   "    Lynne.         "    Anderson.    "  ballot. 

Mutius   "   Waldron       "   McDouall.    "   6.  Chapman. 

Macro   "    Selby.  "    Bernard.      "  Brydges. 

Roman  Centurion..   "    Bender.         "    Heath.        "  Wright. 
Sicilian  Merchant..    "    Harcourt.       "    Gallot.        "  Jones. 

Sophronia   Miss  H.  Faucit.     Mrs.  G.Jones.  Miss  Wall  act. 

Hero....-   "    Turpin.        Miss  Flynn.        "  Gordon. 


COSTUMES. 

Gisiprus. — First  dress  :  Bine  shirt,  and  red  Grecian  toga,  richly  embroid- 
ered with  gold,  wreath  of  pink  roses  round  the  head,  flesh  legging,  and 
sandals.  Second  dress :  Long  white  shirt,  and  blue  toga,  trimmed  with 
gold,  white  ribbon  round  the  head.  Third  dress  :  Old  brown  shirt, 
slate-colored  toga,  old  sandals,  fleshings,  and  sword. 

Titus  Quintus  Fulvius. — First  dress  :  Grecian  toga.  Second  d)-ess  :  Ro- 
man toga. 

Medon. — Rich  Grecian  shirt  and  mantle. 

Pheax  Ditto. 

Chremes — Ditto. 

Lycias  Plain  white  shirt,  trowsers,  and  robe. 

Decius. — Roman  shirt,  breastplate,  and  helmet. 

Macro.— Ditto. 

Centurion — Ditto. 

Davus. — Good  Grecian  Dress. 

Mutius,— Plain  Grecian  dress. 

Sicilian  Merchant— Ditto. 

Sophronia. — White  muslin  Grecian  dress,  trimmed  with  silver,  and  ribbon 

round  the  head. 
Hero.— Plain  Grecian  dress. 


EXITS  AND  ENTRANCES. 

R.  means  Right  ;  L.  Left  ;  R.  D.  Right  Door  ;  L.  D.  Left  Door  s 
S.  E.  Second  Entrance  j  U.  E.  Upper  Entrance  ;  M.  D.  Middle  Door  : 
F.  the  Flat  ;  D.  F.  Door  in  Fiat. 

RELATIVE  POSITIONS. 

R.,  means  Right  ;  L.,  Left  ;  C,  Centre  ;  R.  C,  "Right  of  Centre  ;  L.  C. 
Left  of  Centre. 

Passages  marked  with  Inverted  Commas,  are  usually  omitted  in  the 
Representation. 


GISIPPUS. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — A  Street  in  Athens. 
Enter  Chremes,  Pheax,  and  Medon,  l. 

Med  ( c.J  The  sweetest,  fairest,  loveliest  maid  in  Athens, 
Although  I  be  her  brother,  that  do  say  it. 

Chre.    ( l.J  Sum  all  perfection  in  one  little  word, 
And  say — the  wealthiest  maid  in  Athens. 

Med.  Nay. 
Gisippus  does  not  care  for  that !    He  loves 
Too  deeply,  and  too  fervently,  for  that. 
Aud  yet,  I  think  not  the  less  truly  for  it  ! 
The  shafts  of  the  boy-God  ne'er  would  less  surely 
For  being  tipped  with  gold  ! 

Pheax.    ( r.J  But  prithee,  Meden, 
When  goes  the  wedding  forward  ? 

Med.    Why,  he  hath  waited 
The  changing  of  her  humor  these  three  years, 
In  patient  fondness  ;  and  it  seems  not  like, 
Now  he  hath  bent  at  last  her  stubborn  will 
Unto  the  fashion  of  his  own,  and  weaned 
Her  memory  from  that  phanptom-love  that  haunted  it, 
He'll  stay  the  consummation  of  his  joy 
O'erlong. — But  look  you  yonder.  [Pointing  l» 

Pheax.    >Tis  Fulvius  ! 

Chre.    Returned  so  soon  from  Corinth  ? 

Med.    How  !— what,  Fulvius  ? 

Chre.    You  should  have  heard  Gisippus  speak  of  him. 
He  is  the  other  self — his  Fylades — 
The  young  Roman  student  ! 

Med.    As  I  kuow  him  not, 


10 


GISIPPUS. 


[Act  I 


And  have  some  matters  that  command  me  hence, 
I'll  leave  you  to  accost  him.     Fare  you  well.    [Exit  Med 

and  Phe.  r. 

Enter  Fulvius,  l. 

Chre.    So  early  from  your  studies,  Fulvius  ? 

Fulv.    A  smile  !    I've  searched  half  Athens  for  a  smile, 
And  never  found  it.    What  a  heavy  time 
I  spend  here  with  you  Greeks  !    I  soon  shall  quit 
Your  Academic  groves,  and  I  am  glad  on't. 

Chre.    Of  all  men,  you  should  not  complain  of  dullness 
Yourself  a  very  cynic,  you  have  not 
The  capability  of  pleasantry  ; 
Our  maids  of  Athens  find  you  cold  and  harsh. 

And  given  to  thinking. 

Fulv.    I'll  be  so  no  longer  ! — 
(Musing.)    'Tis  true,  I  had  a  cause 

Chre.  (  Crossing  r.)    And  do  ye  still 
Dream  of  this  fair  Corinthian  vision  !    Oh  ! 
How  passing  a  sigh  was  there  ! 

Fulv.    ( r.J    Peace  !  Peace  ! 

Chre.    To  pine  for  years  upon  a  boyish  fancy, 
And  let  the  thousand  bright  and  real  beauties 
That  court  your  praise,  flit  by  you  all  unheeded 
Shame  !  shame  !    You  ne'er  again  will  meet  your  old  love, 
( And  tho'  you  should,  you've  found  her  most  unworthy  -J 
Then  cast  that  memory  to  the  winds  !    Look  round  ye  ! 
There  are  bright  eyes  and  fairer  forms  in  Greece, 
And  hearts  less  false,  believe  me.    I  have  seen  ye, 
Before  this  fair  Corinthian  fancy  seized  you, 
Flatter  a  graceful  robe  with  such  a  spirit, 
And  make  such  furious  protestations  ?    Oh  1 
But  now,  your  manhood  is  forgotten. 

Fulv.    No  ! 

Give  me  your  hand — you  have  well  counselled  me, 
And  thou  shalt  see  me  chnnged  to  what  I  was, 
From  this  time  forth.    "  No  !  my  lost  love  shall  find 
"  I  can  be  free  and  generous  as  she  was." — 
The  first  fair  form  I  meet,  I  bend  the  knee  to  ; 
I'll  be  no  pining  fool,  to  die  forsaken, 
And  have  my  name  and  fortune  chronicled 
Among  the  tales  of  true  love-victims.    Hark  thee ! 
I'll  think  of  her  no  more. 


Scene  I.] 


GISIPPUS. 


11 


Chre.    Bravely  resolved  ! 

Fulv.    I  say,  I'll  think  of  her  no  more  ! 

Chre.  And  wisely, 
And  gallantly  'tis  said. 

Fulv.    No — by  the  Gods, 
I  never  will  ! 

Chre.    Well,  you  have  said  enough  on't. — 
Here  comes  Gisippus,  with  his  wedding  face  on. 

Fulv.    Gisippus  1 

Chre.    There's  a  smile  ! — you  longed  to  see  one — 
The  smile  successful  lore  wears.    Are  ye  bid 
Unto  the  bridal  ? 

Fulv.    Aye  ;  but  know  not  yet 
The  lady  of  the  feast  nor  sought  to  learn 
Ere  this. — What  !  Gisippus  ! 

Enter  Gisippus  and  a  Slave,  r. 

Gis.    You  are  well  met 
I'm  glad  to  see  you  wear  so  gay  a  brow 
To  honor  our  espousal. — (  To  slave.)    To  your  mistress  : 
Bid  her  expect  me  earlier  than  she  looked  for.  [Exit 
I've  sought  you,  Fulvius.  Slave,  r. 

Fulv.    I  shall  now,  at  length, 
Behold  this  paragon  your  bride,  and  know  her  ? 
Do  you  find  her  still  a  paragon  ? 

Gis.    And  think  you, 
Love  can  be  led  by  circumstance  so  easily  ? 

Chre.    Ay.    Passion  hath  its  change  of  seasons,  sir  ; 
And  'twere  as  vain  to  hope  eternal  Summer, 
As  an  eternal  faith.    This  is  with  you 
The  Spring  of  courtship,  which  calls  up  the  flowers, 
The  fairest  flowers  of  love — your  blooming  fancies — 
Your  fragrant  love-thoughts,  murmuring  sighs  and  pray'rs. 
But  even  as  Nature's  spring,  Love's  too  must  roll 
Away  ;  and  then  comes  your  adored  honey-moon, 
Love's  summer  of  enjoyment  ;  next,  his  Autumn 
Of  lukewarm  liking,  verging  to  indifference, 
The  time  of  shrugs  and  yawns,  and  absent  thoughts. 
And  then  his  Winter  comes — frosty  and  dry, 
Sharp,  biting,  bitter  ;  cunning  in  cold  taunts ; 
Making  the  evening  hearth,  so  late  a  paradise, 
A  place  of  harsh  uncomfort. — Then,  0  Love  ! 


12 


GISIPPUS. 


[Act  I 


How  suddenly  thy  changeful  votaries 
Find  thy  Elysium  void  !    From  the  pale  poet, 
Who  wooed  the  groves  in  song-lorn  melancholy, 
To  him  the  blustering  terror  of  the  field, 
"Who  sighed  like  Boreas,  and  who  made  love  like  war — 
All,  weary  grown  of  the  ignoble  bondage, 
Look  back  with  scorn  upon  the  yoke  they've  spurned, 
And  wonder  how  the  silly  toy  had  power 
To  make  them  sin  so  palpably  'gainst  wisdom. 
Gis.    Peace,  scoffer. 

Chare.    True — that  speech  was  for  a  married  man 
Not  for  a  mateless  turtle  like  myself. 
I'll  leave  you  with  a  proselyte  I've  made 
Within  this  liour — no  very  worthless  votary — 
You  will  confirm  the  change  I  have  begun.  [Exit^  r. 

Gis.    Come  to  my  bridal,  Fulvius.    You  shall  see 
Some  beauties  worth  the  wooing,  though  they  lack 
The  eagle  spirit  of  your  Roman  maids. 

Fulv.    And  I  shall  deem  them  lovely  in  that  want. 
Those  eagle  spirits  are  too  grand  for  me  : 
Such  forms  may  grace  a  painter's  canvas  well, 
Grouped  in  a  legend  of  the  Commonwealth, 
But  by  an  evening  fire  are  cold  companions. 
Woman  was  made  for  love,  and  not  for  wonder. 
Give  me  the  pliant,  soft,  and  human  fair — 
But  Heaven  defend  me  from  your  soaring  beauties  ! 
Your  love  is  none  of  these  ? 

Gis.    ( Fx.)  Come  with  me,  sir  : 
Let  your  own  judgment  answer  you. 

Fulv.    ( l.)  And  tell  me — 
You  are  indeed  the  happy  one  you  seem  ? 

Gis.    Happy  !  Ah,  thou  cold  Western,  thou  dull  scholar, 
Made  up  of  all  crabbed  systems,  I'll  not  talk 
With  thee  of  that  thou  can'st  not  comprehend. 
And  yet,  if  thou  hadst  seen  her,  Fulvius, 
Although  thy  breast  were  frigid  as  the  stream 
That  curdles  through  the  usurper's  withered  veins, 
Thou  still  wouldst  own  my  happiness. — But  yet — 

Fulv.    Nay,  if  your  fortune  may  admit  that  clause, 
I  shall  not  envy  you. 

Gis.    One  thing  troubles  me — 

Fulv.    Ay,  I  should  wonder  else    Did  you  then  look 


Scene  1.1 


GISIPPUS. 


13 


To  rest  your  happiness  on  a  woman's  will, 
And  find  it  unalloyed  ?    What  is  this  seasoner 
01*  yours  ? 

Gis.    Why,  nothing.    It  hath  taken  birth 
In  thought  alone — a  doubt  of  love,  too  sensitive 
To  give  e'en  rapture's  self  free  entertainment. 
Some  old  affection  combated  my  love, 
That  still  is  made  a  mystery.    Faith  stands 
On  unsure  grounds  where  confidence  is  wanting, 
And  hers  I  lack.    But  let  doubt  find  out  me 
I'll  not  seek  it,  nor  do.    She's  mine  ;  and  I 
Could  trace  no  lingering  of  the  hesitation 
That  chilled  my  earlier  wooing,  in  the  deed 
That  made  her  mine  at  length.    But  fare  ye  well:  [Cros- 
I'll  meet  you  straight  and  bring  you  to  her  house  :       ses  l. 

Fulv.    There's  something  more  than  beauty  to  content 
ye  ? 

Gis.    There  are,  as  you  will  see,  some  fair  possessions  ; 
Yet,  Fulvius,  by  the  honor  of  my  love, 
I  had  no  thought  of  these  when  I  became 
Her  suitor. 

Fulv.    I  believe  you. 

Gis.    And  it  was  not 
My  fortunes  placed  my  need  beyond  them,  neither. 
Had  not  this  chanced,  I  were  a  ruin  every  way  : 
Two  thousand  sesterces  were  all  I  owned, 
And  those  I  was  a  debtor  for — I  staked 
My  villa  to  command  them.    Do  you  wonder 
That  I  should  thus  send  my  last  ventures  forth, 
On  the  frail  prospect  of  a  woman's  kindness  ? 

Fulv.    I  rather  wonder  that  hath  not  deceived  you. 
But  frankly,  I  am  glad  to  see  ye  happy, 
A  nd  like  yourself  again. 

Gis.    Oh,  I  have  but  now 
Begun  to  live  !    Uutil  this  morn,  my  soul 
Han  its  career  in  darkness  ;  and  the  world — 
Fair  unto  those  who  live  in  Fortune's  smiles- 
Was  unto  me  a  weariness  ;  but  this 
Hath  poured  a  flood  of  light  into  my  soul, 
That  no  succeeding  night  can  chill  or  darken. 

I  Exeunt  severally,  Gisippus,  l.,  Fulvius,  r. 


u 


Gisirrus. 


[Act  I 


Scene  II. —  The  Gardens  of  Sophronia,  with  Grottoes,  Sfc. 
J  In  sic. 

Enter  Sophronia  and  Hero,  l. 

Hero.    ( l.  c. )  Sophronia  !     Xot  a  word  !    Is  it  to  hide 

A  blush  or  tear,  that  veil's  so  closely  drawn  ? 
Dear  friend,  speak  to  me  !  on  my  heart,  your  silence 
Falls  like  an  angary  of  ill,  least  fitting 
Of  any  to  a  day  like  this. 

Soph.  (n.  c.)  Oh,  Hero  !  [Crossing,  h 

Do  not  question  me.    I  have  not  known  ( too  late 
I  find  it  J  all  my  spirit's  weakness. — Oh  ! 
What  an  inconstant  thing*  is  woman's  will  ! 
On  what  a  trifle  may  the  happiness 
Of  whole  existence  hang  !    A  summer  wind, 
That  is  but  air — nothing — may  turn  an  argosy  ; 
And  the  poor  word  in  weakness  uttered, 
Hath  power  to  bind,  beyond  release  or  hope, 
A  life's  whole  destiny. 

Hero.    The  Gods  have  made 
Thine  their  especial  care. 

Soph.    All  !  yes  1 

Hero.    Sophronio,  some  grief  is  at  your  heart  ;  may  I 
not  share  it  ?  [  Sophronia  avoids  her. 

This  is  not  like  yourself,  Sophronia — friend — ■ 

[Sophronia  returns,  and  they  retire  conversing. 

Enter  Fulvtos  and  Chremes,  r.  u.  e. 

Chre.    (r.)  Why,  Fortune  must  have  ta'cn  her  bandage  • 
off. 

To  shower  such  graces  on  you.    You  must  dedicate 
A  temple  to  the  goddess. — From  the  Emperor  ? 
Sent  for  to  Rome  already  ? 

Fulv.    (r.  c.)  I  have  here 
The  letters  which  command  my  presence  there. 
I  am  promised  honors.    If  you  be  not  bound 
Too  closely  to  your  native  city,  Chremes, 
Let  not  this  change  divide  us. — Share  my  fortunes, 
And  be  to  me  a  memory  of  what. 
Gisippas  was,  till  love  made  friendship  light. 

Chre.    (l.J  We'll  speak  of  this  again  ere  you  leave 
Athens. 


Scene  II.] 


GISIPPCS. 


15 


Did  you  not  say  he  should  have  met  you  here  ? 
Fulv.    A  little  further  ou — ■ 

[Fulvius  fixes  his  eye  on  Sophronia,  who  is  talking  with 
Hero. 

Chre.    'Twill  be  no  grateful  tidings  for  his  ear, 
Those  news  of  your  return  to  Home. 
Fulv.    That  form  ! — 

Chre.    You  do  not  think  of  leaving  till  the  festival 
Be  past? 

Fulv.    How  dim  and  wavering  is  the  recollection 
That  stirs  within  me  ?    There's  some  faint  similitude 
To  an  old  memory,  I  cannot  now 
Distinctly  summon  up. 

Chre.  "  What's  this  ?    Why  gaze  you  so  ? 

Fulv.    It  is  the  loveliest  form  I've  looked  upon 
Since  I  have  entered  Athens  ! 

Chre.  It  is,  indeed, 
A  bust  for  Dian's  self  ! 

Fulv.    If  she  had  left 
Her  wild  wood  for  the  portal  of  her  temple, 
To  give  her  votaries  a  visible  audit, 
She  could  not  move  my  admiration  more. 
I'll  speak  to  her  ! 

Chre.    You  cannot  think  it,  sure  ? 
This  is  some  lady  of  high  estimation  ! 
You  are  changed,  indeed  !     What  plea  have  you  to  offer  ? 

Fulv.    I  care  not.    Let  chance,  which  gives  the  occa- 
sion, 

Be  kinder  yet,  and  furnish  me  with  matter. 

Chre.    You  are  a  madman  !  [Stopping  him. 

Fulv.    "  You  are  a  coward  !    Off  ! 
"  A  pitiful,  dull  trembler.    Hark  you,  sir  : 
"Go  you  and  marvel  yonder,  at  her  state, 
"  And  see  it  bend  to  me. — 'Twill  do  so  !    Hush  !" 
Be  dumb — she  speaks  ! — 

Clue.    You  will  not  be  advised  ? 

Fulv.  Psha  1  No — away  ! —  [Exit  Chremes}  r.  u.  e. 
Now,  by  Cytherea, 

Here  is  no  common  beauty  !    Would  she  but  lift 
That  veil  1    There  is  a  sadness  in  her  air 
And  motion.    Oh  !  if  that  veil  hide  beneath  it. 
A  sorrowing  brow,  when  shall  a  smile  be  worshipped  ? 
Soph.    [2To  Hero,  coming  a  little  forward,  u\ 


15 


Gisirrus. 


Act  I 


But,  trust  mo,  since  that  fatal  "  yes"  was  wrung  from  me, 
I  have  not  rested.    You  must  come  more  frequently, 
Else  I  grow  serious  as  the  fate  that  waits  me. 
Farewell  I    I  wait  Gisppus  here.  [Exit  Hero,  l. 

Fulv.    (Aside.)  Gisippus, ! 
Some  fair  friend  of  the  bride — 

Sophronia,  coining  forward,  a,  suddenly  meets  Fulv.im, 
and  starts  back. 
Soph.    Ah,  heaven  ! — 
Fulv.    Your  pardon,  lady  : 
Do  ye  start  from  as  it  were  a  spectre 
That  crossed  your  daylight  path  ? — "  You  shake  and  trem- 
ble ! 

"  These  groves  are  silent,  but  not  desolate, 
"  And  many  ears  are  waking  near  you.  Say, 
"  What  is  there  in  an  honest  face  to  terrify  you  ? 
"  As  sure  mine  seems  no  other." 

Soph.    ( Aside.)    It  is  Fulvius  ! 
'Tis  the  same  gallant  air — the  noble  form 
That  caught  my  first  affection — Years  have  made 
But  little  change  upon  him. 

Fulv.    ( Aside.)    How  she  regards  me  ! 

Soph.    He  knows  me  not  !  [  Seeming  to  go. 

Fulv.    Lady,  you  will  not  go, 
Leaving  me  thus  unsatisfied  ? 

Soph.    I  know  ye  not,  sir  ! 

Fulv.    I  am  a  Roman,  and  a  friend  of  Gisippus  1 
A  scholar,  too,  just  weaned  from  the  harsh  studies 
Of  Your  Athenian  schools,  and  turning  now 
To  and  a  gentler  lesson  in  the  fair 
And  varied  volume  Nature  lays  before  me  I 
A  diligent  and  most  untiring  learner, 
Could  I  but  hope 

That  most  excellent  pattern  of  her  skill 
This  morning  shows  me,  might  continue  ever 
My  study  and  my  inspiration. 

"  Soph.  You 
"  Are  pleasant,  sir  ! 

Fulv.    1  have  a  failing  that  way, — oh, 
''Oh  ! 

"  Could  you  but  feel  the  wrong  you  do  that  brow, 
"When  you  would  make  it  minister  to  scorn, 
"No  heart  would  mourn  the  absence  of  its  light 


Scene  II.  J 


GISIPPUS. 


"  Soph.    Vain  men  !    And  do  ye  seek  to  cozen  us 

"  With  flattery  so  palpable  as  this  ? 

"  You  know  it  fair,  and  yet  have  never  seen  it  ! 

"  Fulv.    But  shall  ?—  [Approaching  tier. 

"  Soph    No  I — Named  yon  not  Gisippus,  Roman  ? — 
'  Fuh.    He  is  known  to  you  ? 

"  Soph.    He  is. 

"  Fulv.    His  promised  bride,  too  ? 
"  Soph,    Should  be  my  near  friend. 
"  Falc.    And  we  thus  stand  at  distance  ! — Now,  by  Ne- 
mesis, 

"  I  thought  we  should  be  friends.    I  know  not  why, 

"  But  though  we  sure  have  never  met  before, 

"  That  form  already  grows  upon  my  soul 

"  Familiar  as  memory  of  its  childhood. 

"  Our  sages  teach,  ( and  now  I  find  them  reasonable  J 

"  There  is  between  the  destinies  of  mortals 

"  A  secret  and  mysterious  coincidence, 

"  Drawn  from  one  mighty  principle  of  Nature  ; 

"  A  fixed  necessity,  a  potent  'must,' 

"  That  sways  mortality  through  all  its  harmonies  I 

"  That  souls  are  mingled  and  hearts  wedded,  ere 

"  Those  souls  have  felt  the  dawning  of  a  thought ; 

"  Before  those  hearts  have  formed  a  pulse,  or  yet 

i:  Begun  to  beat  with  consciousness  of  being  ! 

"  My  heart  is  governed  by  a  fate  like  this, 

"And  drawn  to  thee,  unknown — unseen. 

Soph.    Beware  ! 
"  I  am  your  friend,  and  warn  you.    Trust  me  not  : 
"  Earth  never  formed  a  being  half  so  false. 
"  To  him  who  slums  me,  I  can  be  more  just  ■ 
"  To  him  who  woos  like  thee,  with  heart  on  lip, 
"  A  very  icicle. 

"Fulv.    I  will  believe  you  ! — 
M  'Tis  beautiful,  and  so  art  thou — 'tis  fragile, 
"  And  false — so  ye  would  have  me  think  ye — Bright, 
"  So  is  thy  beauty — sparkling  as  thy  wit  ! 
"  'Tis  radiant  as  thy  form  ;  and  it  is  cold — ■ 
"  And  so  art  thou  " 

Soph.    I  am  a  dull  diviner, 
If  that  speech  were  not  meant  for  one,  a  foolish  friend 
Of  mine,  at  Corinth  once,  wiio  threw  her  heart 
Away,  thinking  it  given  to  a  lloman  youth. 


IB 


GISIPIUS. 


[Act  I 


Fulv.    At  Corinth,  lady — 
Spoke  you  of  Sophronia  ? 

Soph.  Wkjt 
I  named  her  not ! — you've  known  her,  then?. 

Fide.    I  have. 
I  pray  you,  hoar.    There  is  a  friend  of  mine — 
A  poor  weak  youth — On  !  hear  me — for  my  life 
Is  wrapped  in  his,  and  that  is  failing  fast. 
He  loved  her — and  she  wronged  him. — "Knew  ye  this? 

"  Soph.  No,  truly. — And  yet  I  might  say  I  knew  her, 
"(Her  very  heart)  even  as  mine  own. 

"  Fulv.    She  was 
"The  fairest,  yet  the  falsest  thing  that  e'er 
"  Made  light  of  confidence. — Her  eyes  looked  brightest 
"  When  they  were  silent  perjurers  ; — her  voice 
"  Sweetest,  when  turned  to  deep  deeeit  ; — her  smile. 
"  Pleasant  as  health,  yet  death's  worst  messenger  1 
"This  is  my  memory  of  her."    Years,  alas, 
Have  passed  since  I  beheld  her  !    Lives  she  ? 

Soph.  Yes, 
And  for  a  new  love.    She  has  lived  to  learn 
The  wisdom  of  forgetfulness.    'Twill  be, 
Some  comfort  to  your  false  friend,  to  hear  this  ! 

Fulv.    Oh  1  I  was  never  false — Proud  1  might  be, 
I  am — but  though  in  very  stubbornness, 
1  steeled  my  heart  against  the  scorn  that  pained  it ; 
And  like  the  slave,  whose  struggling  in  his  chains 
Makes  them  hang  heavier  and  corrode  more  deeply, 
The  influence,  that  I  sought  to  smile  away, 
But  clung  more  sensibly  about  my  heart, 
Binding  it  down  unto  its  first  affections 
More  firmly,  while  my  laughing  lip  denied 
The  dear  allegiance — Would  Sophronia  knew  this  ! 

Soph.    Ay,  if  she  had  but  known  this  ! 

Fulv.    Ay,  idle  sorrow  now  ; 
For  had  I  sought  her  and  bowed  down  my  heart 
Yet  lower  than  its  boyish  pride  could  stoop, 
It  were  in  vain,  for  she  esteemed  the  fancied  wrong 
Her  own  and  would  have  spurned  the  suit  and  me. 

Soph.    Oh,  women  have  forgiving  tempers,  Fulvius  : 
You  should  have  made  the  trial. 

Fulv.    Ha  t— that  tone  ! 
I  stand  as  one  in  mist — Am  I  deceived  ?— 


Scene  IT.] 


GI3IPPU3. 


39 


Soph.    But  now,  indeed,  'tis  late.    Sophronia  is 
*      In  Athens — and  forgiveness  past  her  power 

Fide.    ( Approaching  her.)    The  veil !    In  mercy  !  Oh, 
my  anxious  heart 
And  throbbing  brain  !    The  veil !  Nay,  raise  it,  lady— 
And  snatch  me  from  the  agonizing  dream — • 
"  Say,  do  I  err? 

"  CY  does  my  heart  deceive  me,  when  it  claims 
"  That  voice,  for  one  familiar  with  its  oldest 
"  Ami  best  remembrances?"    It  grows  upon  mo 
More  rapidly  and  surely — My  Sophronia, 
( Kn&is.)    Oh,  my  love  I  life  1  happiness  ? 

f  She  throws  lack  the  veil 

Soph.    Hold,  there ! 

Fulv.    No,  no  ! 
By  thine  own  unchanged  beauty,  I  do  swear 
1  am  as  innocent  of  wrong  to  ye, 
As  aught  in  virtue  or  in  tiuth  ! 

Soph.    It  is  too  late  : 
I  am  no  more  mine  own  to  meet  thy  faith, 
Although  I  should  believe  it. 

Fulv,    Say  thou  dost  ;  [Rising. 
And  where  is  he  who  dares  dispute  the  consequence  ? 
"I  do  remember  somewhat,  lightly  spoken 
"  And  hastily,  ("which  thou  wilt  sure  recall,  love  J 
"  That  chills  my  breast  to  think  on.    Nay,  put  off 
"  That  distant  air. — Wave  not  your  hand  thus  coldly, 
"  As  you  would  scatter  sorrow  with  the  action 
"  Upon  the  heart  that  loves  you."  Register. 
My  pardon,  even  by  a  look,  and  say 
u  nkindness  sleeps  between  us,  and  love  wakes  again. 

Soph.    It  is  too  late,  now. 

Fulv.    "Wherefore  ?    Are  you  not 
The  same  free  Grecian  maiden  ?    I  can  see 
No  mark  of  bondage  on  you. 

Soph.    But  there  is 
A  heavy  bondage — I  am  bound. 

Fulv.    To  me  I  [.Eagerly  talcing  her  liand. 

Think  you  I  could  forget  that  vow,  Sophronia  ? 
Truth,  love,  and  justice  are  my  witnesses, 
(And  surely  you  will  honor  them  J  the  heart 
That  stilled  its  beating  to  record  the  pledge, 


20 


GISIPPUS. 


LActI 


Tenders  it  yet — among  its  living  pulses. 

The  clearest  memory  there  ! 

Soph.    This  must  be  ended. 
Fulvius — I  am  indeed — 

Fidv.    ( Interupting  her.)  Although  my  lips, 
Which  are  the  beauteous  ministers  of  truth, 
While  virgin  Truth  herself,  had  sworn  that,  lady, 
I  still  must  disbelieve  ye. 

Soph.    Then  fare  ye  well — 
The  time  must  undeceive  you.  [Going,  l. 

Fidv.    Hold,  Sophronia  ! 
If  any  fearful,  creeping,  heartless  slave, 
Have  made  a  base  advantage — Oh,  my  blindness  ! 
That  I  should  leave  to  such  a  venomed  slanderer 
The  opportunity  he  dared  not  vindicate  ! — 
But  name  him — and  I  will  redeem  thy  pledge, 
Though  I  should  tear  it  from  his  heart,  and  give  thee 
A  reeking  witness  with  it. 

Soph.    'Tis  a  name 
Will  lay  a  quieter  and  heavier  influence 
Upon  your  spirit,  Fulvius.    You  are  sensitive 
Iii  friendship,  as  in  love  ? —  [Music,  Piano. 

Fidv.    ( Starting  bade.)  Ha  ! 

Soph.    I  am  here 
The  mistress  of  the  revel. — Hark  !    Oh,  heaven  ! 
My  lord  approaches — Oh,  forgive  and  leave  me  I 

Fidv..    lrour  lord  ? 

Soph.    My  husband — Gisippus  !    Your  friend  ! 
Oh  !  fly  ! 

Fidv.    My  friend  ?  [Abstractedly. 

Soph.    I  tear  your  meeting. 

Fidv.    Oh ! 
Avenging  Nemesis  ! — Oh,  traitor,  Hope  ! 
What  was  there  in  the  little  store  of  peace 
That  I  till  now  had  laid  unto  my  heart, 
Thine  eye  should  covet  thus  ? 

Soph.    (Anxiously.)    He  comes  ! 

Fulv.    (  Starting  round.)  I  am  glad  of  it  ! 

Soph.    Mercy  1  you  would  not — 

Fidv.    In  his  very  teeth 
I'll  fling  my  charge — there  let  it  stick,  and  blacken  ! 

[Crosses,  j. 

Ye  bards,  whose  tales  of  Grecian  faith  are  cherished 


Scene  II.] 


Gisiprrs. 


21 


In  strains  that  credulous  fancy  dotes  upon, 
Your  ashes  shall  no  more  be  hallowed  now. 
It  was  a  lying  spirit  moved  ye  ! — Hence  ! 
Thou  art  become  a  plague  unto  my  sight, 
A  biot  and  stain  upou  the  virgin  air. 

[Music  is  heard  within,  louder  ;  Sophronia,  ci'osses,  r. 
and  sinks  on  her  knee. 
Oh,  arise,  my  love  ! 

How  swift  a  shame  runs  burning  through  my  veins  ! 
You  should  not  kneel — What,  though  you  are  heartless, 
love, 

You  still  are  queen  in  this — Beautiful  falsehood  : 
Ye  have  spells  about  ye — and  I  would  curse, 
Yet  can  but  gaze  into  thine  eyes,  and  bless  thee. 
"What  would  ye  I  should  do  ! 

Soph.    I've  been  to  blame, 
But  now  repentance  is  in  vain.    I  fear 
The  anger  of  my  lord — for  I  am  now 
Bound  to  obedience. — Seem  not  to  know  me,  Fulvius  ! 
The  fate  that's  on  us  passion  cannot  alter, 
But  may  confirm. 

Fuh.    Fear  not. — I  will  be  govered. 

Enter  Gisipfus,  Medox,  Chremes,  Ladies  Guests,  Sfc, 
r.  u.  e. — Music  plays  while  seats  are  arranged — Gisippus 
leads  Sophronia  to  a  seat,  l. — Fulvius  remains  unobserved, 
leaning  against  a  side  scene  up  the  Stage. 

Gis.    Here  in  these  silent  groves  we  will  attend 
The  lighting  of  the  Hymeneal  torch. 
How  pure,  how  holy  is  the  sacrifice, 
That  waits  on  virtuous  love  !    How  sacred  is 
The  very  levity  we  wake  to  honor  it  ! 
The  fiery  zeal  that  passion  knows,  is  there 
Tempered  by  mild  esteem  and  holiest  reverence 
Into  a  still,  unwasting,  vestal  flame, 
That  wanders  nor  decays.    All  soft  affections, 
Calm  hopes  and  quiet  blessings,  hover  round, 
And  soft  Peace  shed  her  virtuous  dews  upon  it 
Xo  conscious  memories  haunt  the  path  of  pleasure, 
But  happiness  is  made  a  virtue. 

Fulv.    (r.)  Ay  ! 
An  universal  one — for  truth  and  justice, 


22 


Gisiprus. 


[Act  I. 


Honor  and  faith  may  be  cast  off  to  gain  it, 

Without  one  conscious  shame. 
Gis.    How's  this  ? 

Soph.     {Lays  her  hand  on  his  arm.)  Gisippus  ! 
Gis,    My  love  !    What  would  you  ? 
Fulv,    (b.)  Oh  !  must  I  endure  this? 
The  action  hath  struck  fire  from  out  mine  eyes — 
I  cannot  hold —  [  Coining  forward, 

Gis.    ( c.)  Ha  !  Fulvius  !    Oh,  dear  friend  I 
My  happiness  fell  short  of  its  completion, 
Till  you  had  given  me  joy. 

Fulv.    (r.)  Why  should  it  need  ? 
The  joy  that  conscious  truth  gives  will  wait  on  ye, 
For  surely  you  deserve  it. 

Gis.    Friend  and  brother, 
I  thank  you. 

Fulv.    Does  the  bride  ? 
Gis.    Nay  !  ye  should  spare  her. 
Fulv.    Prudent  friend  !    Wise  lover  !  Now 
I  see  the  spring  of  your  half  confidences. 
Gis,    What  doubt  is  this  ! 
Fulv.    Doubt  !    Oh  !  I  know  thee  just  ; 
I  know  thy  tongue  was  honest — but  I  know,  too, 
The  silent  tales  a  glancemay  tell — the  lies 


Soph.    Oil  !  heed  him  not  : 
There  is  some  error — 

Fulv.    All  the  nods — the  looks, 
By  which  the  absent  fool  is  safely  damned — 
Ye  would  not  slander  me  in  words,  1  know  it ; 
But  there  are  ways. 

Gis.    ( l.  c.)    (Aside.)  What  sudden,  horrible  fear, 
Creeps  o'er  my  frame  ? 
There  is  no  likelihood  in  that. 

Fulv.    Farewell ! 
Honest  Gisippus,  fare  ye  well  !  Sophronia, 
I  will  not,  for  the  last  time,  take  your  hand 
With  an  ill  word.  [Kisses  her  hand, 

Gisippus,  this  is  all 

Your  friend  claims  from  your  bride — oh,  she  was  worth 
A  double  perjury  I    Oh,  virtuous  pair, 


That  may  be  acted. 
Gis.    Ha ! 


[  They  all  rise. 
[  Sophronia  throws  herself  lelween. 


Scene  II,] 


GISIPPUS. 


23 


The  happiness  ye  merit  dwell  about  ye, 

Till  ye  have  learned  to  laugh  at  conscience.    How ! 

Am  I  a  wonder,  that  ye  throng  and  gaze 

Upon  me  !    Have  I  marred  the  bridal  ?    Oh  ! 

Let  it  proceed  and  pardon  me.    Hearts  worthier 

Marriage  ne'er  blest ;  "take  a  friend's  word  for  that— 

"  An  undone  friend,  it  may  be,  but  that's  little." 

My  last  advice  is — ye  may  ne'er  remember 

The  name  or  fortunes  of  yonr  ancient  friend, 

For  there's  a  cause  why  that  should  breed  ill  thinking. 

Farewell,  Sophronia  !    Oh,  true  friend,  Gisippus — 

Farewell !  farewell !  [Exit,  R. 

Medon.    ( Aside.)    What  is  the  cause  of  this  ? 

Pheax.    Whate'er  it  be,  Gisippus  hath  it  now. 
His  looks  betray  it.    Mark  him  1 

Gis.    ( l.  c.)  Hold,  my  heart  ! 
Rush  not  too  quickly  on  a  divination 
So  fall  of  fear  for  thee.    Sophronia  ? 

Soph,    (m,  c.)  I  am  here,  Grisippus 

Gis.    Medon  will  attend  you 
To  yonr  chamber.    I  would  speak  with  you  alone — 
I'll  follow  you. 

Soph,    (h.)  My  lord  shall  be  obeyed. 

[Exit  ivith  Medon,  l. 

Gis.    ( c.)  Kind  friends,  yonr  pardon  for  this  interruption, 
Which  should  not  mar  the  festival — One  hour, 
While  you  attend  a  measure  in  the  house, 
I  would  bespeak  your  patience.    Then  I  come  to  ye  ! 

[Music  plays  while  Chrcmcs  and  the  rest  go  out,  leaving 
Gisippus  alone  upon  the  Stage,  l. 

Gis.    Corinth  ?    The  mystery  of  Fulvius — and 
Sophronia's  old  affection  ?    You  great  Gods, 
I  see  my  fate  ! — The  sacrifice  you  ask 
Is  great  and  bitter. — You,  who  lay  upon  me 
This  heavy  test,  lift  up  my  soul  to  meet 
And  wrestle  with  its  potency  :  The  hour 
Is  come  at  length,  when  the  young  votary,  Virtue, 
Must  prove  his  worship  real — when  the  spirit 
Shall  soar  above  all  natural  affections, 
A  wonder  and  a  tale  for  days  unborn, 
Or  sink,  degraded,  into  self.    My  love  ? 
My  friend  ?    How  suddenly  the  word  unmans  me  ! 


94 


GISIPPUS. 


[Act  II. 


My  heart  is  weak, — and  I  but  pant  and  struggle 
At  the  greatness  I  would  master.    Yet  it  shall  be  so. 

[  Ccmes  down. 
Sophronia  shall  be  tried — and  should  she  falter, 
It  must  be  done,  although  my  strings  of  life 
Crack  in  the  doing.    Oh  !  for  one  brief  moment, 
Lie  still  and  cold,  ye  whispering  ministers 
That  stir  my  blood  with  selfish  doubts  and  wishes  ; 
Dig  memory,  sense,  and  feeling  from  my  brain 
And  heart,  and  make  it  steel  to  all  but  that 
Which  makes  yielding  painful  !  [Exit,  l. 

END  OF  ACT  I. 


ACT  II. 

Scexe  I. — A  Sheet  in  Athens. 

Enter  Fulvius  and  Chremes,  followed  by  Lycias  and 
Servants,  l. 

Ful.    ( c.)  Friends  let  our  train  expect  me  on  the  hill, 
Beside  the  villa  of  Gisippus.  Exeunt  Lycias  <J-c,  r. 

Chre.    Nay  ! 
Why  should  you  droop  thus,  Fulvius? 

Fulv.    ( r.J  I  would 
We  had  left  Athens  yesterday.    I  grieve 
To  think  upon  the  wrong  I  did  Gisippus, 
And  would  return  and  see  him  once  again, 
To  take  a  friendlier  leave. 

Chre.    You  should  say,  rather, 
To  see  Sophronia  once  again,  and  make 
Your  parting  yet  more  painful. 

Fulv.    No,  I  have  wronged 
My  friend  !    The  friend  that  would  have  died,  ere  injured 
Me,  or  cast  one  moment's  shadow  o'er  my  heart. 
He  shall  yet  think  better  of  me.  [Crosses,  u 

Chre.    Well,  I  seek  not 
To  cross  your  wishes.    But  I  pray  you,  tell  me — 
That  gloomy-looking  knave  ye  sent  before 
Just  now  :  is  he  you**  slave '( 

Fulv.    My  freedman,  Lycias. 


Scene  II.] 


GISIPPUS. 


25 


Chre.    It  is  impossible  that  there  can  be. 
An  uglier  man  ! 

Fulv.    Or  a  truer. 

Chre.    Pish  for  his  truth  ! 
I  would  not  keep  such  a  face  about  my  household 
For  all  the  truth  in  Greece.    I  have  conceived 
A  strange  antipathy  against  him.  What 
A  dark  and  scowling  glance  the  sulky  slave 
Shoots  from  beneath  his  shaggy  brows  ! 

Fulv.    Beware  ! 
Keep  such  thoughts  in  your  breast,  and  live  in  peace : 
He's  a  Phcenecian  ;  faithful — but  revengeful. 

Chre.    Psha  !  he  shall  know  my  mind  a  dozen  times 
In  the  hour.    I'll  wiiip  him  from  his  cut-throat  looks. 
He  talks  too  little  for  an  honest  man  ; 
I'll  teach  him  more  civilized  obedience, 
Than  that  he  showred  you  now  when  you  spoke  to  him : 
'  Lycias,  go  bid  our  trains  expect  me.' — '  Ugh  i'  Ha  1  ha  ! 
ha  !  [Exit,  r. 

Fulv.    I'll  see  her  :  once  again  will  see  Sophronia  ! 
Why  should  I  doubt  my  resolution  ? — Yet, 
If  she  should  smile — and  heaven  is  in  that  smile — 
May  she  not  win  me  back 
To  the  delusions  of  my  wooing  hours, 
And  blind  my  vision  to  the  onward  path 
That  honor  points  to  ?    Ko,  no,  it  must  not 
Grieve  Gisippus  to  think  upon  our  friendship. 
He  shall  yet  deem  nobly  of  me.  Exit,  u 

Scene  II. —  The  House  of^  Sophronia. 
•  Enter  Medon  and  Sophronia,  r.  Zd.  e. 

Med.    (l.  )    Away — tell  me  no  more. 

Soph.    ( c.)    I  have  heavy  reasons. 

Med.    They  should  be  such,  indeed,  to  o'erweigh  that 
You  now  have  urged.    Delay  the  bridal  !  Bid 
Our  friends  disperse,  and  keep  their  mirth  un wasted 
For  another  morn  ?    Fie  !  fie  !    Have  you  a  name 
To  care  for  ?    What  a  scandal  will  it  bring 
Upon  our  fame  !    A  man,  brave,  learned,  honored, 
Worthy  the  noble  lineage  he  sprung  from, 
Worthy  as  fair  a  fate  as  thou  couldst  give  him, 
Were  it  made  doubly  prosperous.    What  think  you, 


20 


GISirPTTS. 


Act  II 


Made  yon  thus  absolute  ?    I'll  know  the  cause 
From  which  this  fancy  springs,  or  hear  no  more. 

Soph,    (u)  Then  you  shall  hear  no  more,  for  while  Hive 
The  cause  shall  sleep  within  my  lips,  though  none 
L>ut  the  ear  of  solitude  should  hear  it  spoken. 

Med.    fit.)    Sophronia,  i  know  well  'tis  some  device 
To  break  this  contract. 

Soph.    Xo,  my  brother. 

Med.  But 
My  heart  is  set  upon  it.    His  noble  birth, 
His  eloquence,  his  influence  in  the  city, 
Are  wanting  to  support  our  growing  name. 
My  plans,  hopes,  all,  are  based  on  tins  alliance. 

Soph.    But  to  defer — 

Med.    Defer  !    Why  did  you  promise  ? 
Why  did  you  mock  us  then,  with  your  consent? 
What  shall  be  your  next  humor?    We'll  attend  it. 

Soph.    Why  should  you  be  so  quick  to  speak  uukindness  ? 
It  was  to  please  you,  Mcdon,  I  consented  ; 
1  did  not  then  look  for  a  life  of  happiness, 
But  now  1  feel  content  shall  scarce  be  mine. 
Yet,  as  I  iiope  for  that,  I  swear  to  thee 
I  do  but  seek  to  meet  tin;  phdge  I've  given, 
And  with  a  firmer  fortitude  redeem  it. 

Enter  Gisippus,  r.  3d  e. 

I  have  no  other  hope.    Oh  !  brother,  if 

Indeed  you  would  be  deemed  such,  grant  me  this, 

And — ha  !  he  is  here — 

Gis.    1  am  sorry  that  I  startle  you, 
Mcdon  ;  what  is  there  in  your  gift,  Sophronia, 
Shonld  sue  thus  humbly  for,  and  find  you  cold? 

Med.    I  would  not  have  it  known — and  if  she  holds 
My  love  at  aught,  she  will  be  silent  on  it.     [Exit,  r,  3d  e. 

Gis.    (r.  c.)  Forget  this  peevish  bickering  of  your  bro- 
ther, 

And  hear  me  speak. 

Soph.    At  least  Gisippus,  you 
'Can  have  no  cause  to  chide  ! 

Gis    Why,  there,  Sophronia  ! 
How  like  a  conscious  one  you  spring  to  meet 
The  shadow  of  an  accusation. 


Scene  I.] 


Gisirpus. 


27 


Said  not  I  came  to  chide  you  ;  but  indeed 

You've  judged  aright,  and  you  shall  hear  my  charge  ! 

The  promise  you  have  pledged  me,  you  redeem 

In  words  ;  your  looks  are  cold  ;  they  freeze  my  heart 

And  tell  me  it  is  cheated  with  a  mask 

Of  constrained  seeming. 

Soph.    Whither  does  this  lead  ? 

Gis.    Your  converse,  friendship,  fortune, 
Y'ou  say  are  mine.    But  I  would  yet  be  lord 
Of  more  than  these  !  without  it,  they  are  valueless. 
'Tis  an  ideal  good,  excelling  substance — 
-Tis  trust,  'tis  confidence,  Sophronia. 

Soph.    Nay,  there,  at  least,  I'm  free. 

Gis.    Indeed,  you  are, 
And  therefore  'tis  I  value  it  and  seek  it. 
Give  me  your  hand.     ( Takes  her  hand.)     "  You've  had 

proof  of  my  love, 
M  Now  try  me  further."    Lay  your  heart  before  me, 
Naked  as  it  appears  to  your  own  thoughts, 
With  all  its  aspirations.    You  may  find 
That  I  can  act  as  worthy  and  as  free 
A  part,  as  if  I  ne'er  had  stooped  so  low, 
To  win  the  love  that  hath  at  last  deceived  me 
.For  though  my  heart  can  witness  I  do  prize 
That  love  beyond  the  life-blood  that  flows  through  it 
I  would  not  weigh  it  'gainst  your  happiness, 
The  throbbing  of  one  pulse — now  believe  and  trust  me. 

Soph.    You  are  too  noble  1 

Gis.    No  ! — no  ! — 
Do  not  think  that,  Sophronia  ; 
Nor  let  your  generous  fear  to  wound  a  heart 
Too  sensitive,  affect  your  confidence. 
The  rigid  schools  in  which  my  youth  was  formed, 
Have  taught  my  soul  the  virtue  that  consists 
In  mastering  all  its  selfish  impulses  ! 
And  could  I  bring  content  into  your  bosom, 
And  bid  that  care  that  pines  your  delicate  cheek, 
And  pales  its  hue  of  bloom,  (fitparadise 
For  the  revelry  of  smiles  !)  resign  his  throne  there 
My  heart  without  a  pang,  could  lose  ye  !    (Aside.)  How 
It  bums,  while  I  belie  it ! 

Soph.    I  have  heard  you 


23 


GISIPPUS. 


[Act  II. 


With  wonder,  that  forbids  my  gratitude. 
How  have  you  humbled  me  !    Oh,  Gisippus  ! 
I  will  deceive  you  .yet — for  you  shall  find, 
Although  I  caunot  practice  yet  I  know 
What  greatness  is,  and  can  respect  it  truly  ; 
I  would  requite  your  generosity, 
And  what  I  can,  I  will.    Do  not  distrust  me 
From  any  seeming  !    I  have  plight  my  promise, 
And  it  shall  be  fulfilled. 

Gis.    My  fears  were  just,  then  ? 

Soph.    Let  them  be  banished  now  !    My  noble  monitor, 
When  I  shall  make  advantage  of  your  goodness, 
Virtue  forswear  me  !    You  have  waked  my  heart 
To  duty  and  to  honor  they  shall  find 
An  earnest  votary  in  it. 

Gis.    Duty  and  honor  ! 
Ye  have  spoken  it  worthily,  Sophronia. 
Yet  these  are  cold  words — Oh  !  how  beautifully 
That  fiery  carriage  shows  upon  ye  !  How 
Ye  shine  and  sparkle  in  your  hourly  changes  ! 
Oh,  woman,  what  an  empty  boaster  man  is, 
When  he  would  strive  against  your  empire  !  How, 
When  he  would  soar  at  lonely  excellence, 
Ye  cling  upon  him  with  your  potent  weakness  ; 
And  when  he  is  content  to  creep  beside  ye 
In  the  dull  circle  of  material  happiness, 
Ye  fire  him  to  a  longing  after  greatness. 
He  hath  the  strength  of  the  huge  ocean-wave  ; 
But  you — you  are  the  planet  by  whose  influence 
It  mounts  or. falls.    Have  you  spoke  this  too  hastily? 
Or  do  you  feel  that  firmness  in  your  nature, 
Which  you  have  quelled  in  mine  ? 

Soph.    The  guests  attend  us  ; 
If  you  will  longer  hesitate,  I'll  doubt 
The  welcome  my  assent  meets. 

Gis.    ( Kisses  her.)    Beautiful  miracle  ! 
Oh  !  you  shall  find  how  dearly  I  esteem  it. 
Farewell  !    I  will  but  see  all  placed  in  readiness 
Witiiout,  and  then  attend  you.    Oh,  you  have  sent 
Joy  like  a  strong  light,  through  my  darkened  spirit  ; 
Faivwell  !  the  rite  shall  be  prepared.  [Exit,  r.s.  s. 

Soph.    (l.J  The  sacrifice — 


Scene  I.J 


GISIPPUS. 


29 


The  double  sacrifice  !    We  have  been  made. 
The  victims  of  our  own  caprice. 

Enter  Norban,  R. 

Nor.  ophronia,* 
Fulvius  would  speak  with  you. 

Soph.    Ha  !    Peace  !    Where  is  he  ? 
Not  for  the  world  !  Away. 

Enter  Fulvius,  r.  „ 

Fulv.    The  wings  of  peace 
Shelter  your  heart,  Sophronia,  though  they  leave 
Those  that  have  loved  you  comfortless  ! 

Soph.    Your  coming 
Is  most  ill-timed.    I  would  not  for  thy  life 
Gisippus  saw  ye  here.    Norban  ! 

Nor.    I  am  here,  Sophronia. 

Soph.    Remain  on  this  side,  and  be  sme  you  warn  me 
When  Gisippus  returns  ! 

Nor.    I  will  obey  you. 

Soph.    Why  have  you  come  ? 

Fulv.    "  You  are  so  deaf  to  me, 
"  So  coiled  and  wound  about  my  heart,  that  I 
"  Am  glad  to  find  my  presence  is  unwelcome  to  you." 
I  come  to  take  my  leave,  forever  I 

Soph.    How  ? 
Do  you  leave  us,  then,  indeed  ? 

Fulv.    I  am  for  Rome. 
The  path  of  wordly  fame  and  honor  lies 
Smiling  before  me.    All  the  dignities 
That  young  ambition  covets  may  be  mine, 
And  fait*  success  invites  me  like  a  bride. 
How  joyously  my  spirit  once  had  leaped 
To  meet  her  smile,  and  merit  it  !    But  now, 
Its  earliest  impulse  hath  been  chilled  and  wasted — 
Its  earliest  hope  overthrown. 

Enter  Gisippus  quickly ;  r.  u.  e.,  behind  Norban,  unseenby  him. 

Gis.    Fulvius  !  [Starts  bade. 

Soph.    Do  not  speak  thus,  Fulvius. 
This  is  not  manly  in  you. 
Fulv.    Oh,  my  love  ! 


30 


GISTPPUS. 


[Act  II 


(For  I  must  call  yoa  such,  though  I  have  lost  you,) 
You  have  bereft  me  of  all  nobleness, 

[Nof'ban  turning  accidentally,  discovers  Gisippus  and 
stmts.    Gisippus g rasps  his  arm,  points  to  his  dagger, 
and  motions  him  ojf.    Norban  departs. 
And  made  me  what  you  should  contemn. 

Gis.    ( Aside.)  A  watch  set,  too  ! 
Tins  is  the  bride  now, — this — "  Oh,  my  prudent  woman — 
"  Angel  and  devil  in  one  hour  !"    My  friend,  too  ! 
Peace  !  peace  ! 

Soph.    Nay,  look  not  thus  dejected,  Fulvius 
Think  it  is  our  fate  which  masters  us, 
And  strive  against  it  firmly, 

Fulv.    Alas  !  sweetest, 
You  counsel  me  in  vain.    Do  not  despise  me, 
That  I  am  wanting  in  that  stern  command 
Of  natural  feeling,  and  that  scorn  of  circumstance, 
That  shields  the  breast  of  Gisippus. 

Gis.    (l.  u.  e.)    Well  put, 
Wy  friend  ! — This  is  the  friend — the  bridegroom's  friend  ! 
Ha  !  torture  ! 

Fulv.    Do  not  envy  me  the  luxury 
Of  yielding  to  the  pressure  of  my  fortune. 
"  The  heart  is  not  mechanical — nor  owns 
"The  empire  of  the  will. 
"  It  is  the  universal  law  of  nature, 
"  That  where  the  hand  of  suffering  presses  hard, 
"  Complaint  should  follow."    There  is  a  relief 
In  the  abandonment  of  utter  sorrow, 
That  only  sufferers  know  ! 

Soph.    Weak  sufferers,  Fulvius  ; 
The  unreasoning  slaves  of  impulse  and  excitement. 
Would  you  depress  your  nature,  to  the  level 
Of  mindless — nay,  even  of  inanimate  things  ? 
The  victim  at  the  stake  will  howl  and  whine  ; 
The  plant,  unwatered,  droops  ;  but  man  should  meet 
The  malice  of  his  fate  with  firmer  carriage. 
"  Alas  !  look  on  the  life  of  \h&  happiest  here ; 
"  What  is  it  but  a  war  of  human  pride, 
"  With  human  suffering  ?  the  mind,  the  soul 
"  In  arms  against  the  heart !  their  aUy,  reason, 
"  Forcing  the  aching  wretch  to  suffer  greatly, 
"  And  own  influence  of  fate.  !"    What  still 


Scene  I.] 


gisippus. 


81 


Unmanned  at  parting  ?    Pray  you,  Fulvius, 

Resolve  me  this. 

Fulv.    What  is't  you  ask  ? 

Soph.    Suppose — 
(I  do  but  dream  now  while  I  speak  of  this,) 
But  say  that  it  were  possible  our  loves 
Might  yet  be  favored  ! 

Fulv.    Ha  ! 

Soph.    Beware,  young  Roman  ! 
I  speak  this  as  a  dreamer.    But  suppose 
Gisippus,  who  you  know  is  worthy, 
And  loves  you  as  a  friend — 

Fulv.    Alas,  I've  proved  that — 
But  ill  requited  him. 

Soph.    I  pray  you  hear  me. 
Suppose  your  friend  should  give  me  back  the  promise 
That  I  have  plighted — (Oh,  most  unwillingly  !) 
And  leave  me  free  to  make  my  own  election, 
Wrong  or  dishonor  set  apart. 

Fulv.    I  hear  ye. 

Soph.    How  would  my  freedom  move  ye  ? 

Fulv.    ( Rapturously.)  As  my  life 
Restored  beneath  the  lifted  axe. 

Soph.    We  should  rejoice,  then  ? 

Fulv.    We  should  pale  the  front, 
The  Afric  front  of  night,  with  revel  lights, 
And  tire  her  echoes  with  our  laughter  I 

Soph.    Ay ! 
And  Gisippus  would  laugh,  too. 

Fulv.   Ha  ! —  [Droops. 

Soph.    He'd  be 
The  loudest  reveller  amongst  us.  Ay, 
We  should  be  famed  in  story,  too.    The  best, 
The  truest  friends — self-sacrificers  ! — Oh  ! 
Our  monuments  should  be  the  memories 
Of  every  virtuous  breast, — while  Gisippus 
Might  find  his  own  dark  tomb,  and  die  forgotten. 

tl  Fulv.    What  mean  you  ? 
.  "  Soph.    Cast  aside  that  dull  respect 
"  Of  fair  opinion  and  the  world's  esteem, 
"  Which  is  the  death  of  many  a  happiness.— 
"  You  are  for  Rome  ?    Our  fate  is  in  our  hands — 
M  The  world  may  call  it  perjury  in  me, 


32 


GISIPPUS. 


[Act  II. 


"  In  you,  foul  treachery — but  we  can  live 

"  Without  the  world's  approval,  ( can  we  not?j 

M  And  laugh  at  self-reproach,  too  V 

Fulv.    Sweetest  warner, 
Mine  honor  is  not  dead,  though  it  hath  slept — * 
What  would  you  do  ? 

Soph.    I'd  wake  that  worthiness 
Within  you  which  I  know  you  own.    Oh  !  Fulvius, 
You  now  may  see  how  dearly  I  have  loved  you, 
Since  I  had  rather  lose  you — (Ay,  my  first 
Old  idolized  affection  \  ) — than  behold  you 
Second  to  any  in  your  own  esteem. 

Fulv.    In  yours  and  virtue's,  never  ! — Do  not  fear  it — 
I  came  to  take  my  last  farewell,  Sophronia. 
Come  ;  I  can  throw  my  helm  upon  my  brow, 
And  shake  my  crest  upon  the  battle-field, 
And  bare  my  bright  steel  with  a  grasp  as  firm 
As  his  whose  arm  is  nerved  by  glory's  zeal, 
Not  by  the  madness  of  a  broken  heart. 
An  honorable  cause — a  fiery  onset — 
A  peal  of  war — a  hush  ! — one  thought  on  thee  ! — 
Aud  there's  an  end  of  Fulvius  and  his  love  ! 

"  Gis.    (  Coming  forward  a  little.)    That  speech  was  like 
"  ye,  Roman  !" 

Soph.    Oh,  now  you  are 
The  gallant  soul  you  have  been  ;  and  shall  be 
The  cherished  memory  of  my  heart.    "  Oh  !  Fulvius 
"  It  is  a  sullen  fortune  that  subdues  us. 
"  But  we  have  trifled  with  her  early  smiles, 
"  And  now  must  strive  against  her  hate."    Farewell  I 
Forget  me,  and  be  happy. 

Fulv.    It  must  be 
My  solace  to  remember  you,  Sophronia, 
But  only  as  a  rightful  sacrifice 
To  honor  and  to  friendship.    Dear  Sophronia, 
Let  me  be  careful  of  his  peace,  to  whom 
The  Gods  have  given  you  now.    He  knows  not  yet 
Of  our  affection.    Let  him  never  know  it. 
Time,  absence,  and  the  change  of  circumstance, 
May  wean  me  from  your  memory — never  droop 
Your  head  to  hear  it,  and  you  may  yet  be 
To  Gisippus — all — but  away  with  that — 


Scene  I.] 


GISIPP4JS 


33 


Farewell,  at  once,  forever  I 

[They  are  separating-,  when  Gisippus  advances  quickly. 

Gis.  (c.)  Stay,  Sophronia  ! 

Soph.  ( r.J  Ha  !  we  are  lost  ! 

Gis.  "  Lost  ?    How  ?    Why  ?  wherefore,  lady  V 
You,  Fulvius,  too  !    Look  on  me  calmly,  Roman. 
You've  known  me  long — beheld  me  in  all  changes, 
And  read  my  spirit  in  its  nakedness. 
In  what  part  of  my  life  have  I  betrayed 
A  mean  or  selfish  nature  ? — Ay  !  that  gesture 
Would  tell  me — never  ! — Wherefore  am  I,  then, 
So  worthless  of  your  confidence,  I  must 
Turn  eaves-dropper  to  gain  it  ?    Not  a  word  ! — 
You  were  eloquent  but  now.    Ha  !  ha  !    You'll  say 
You  had  an  inspiration  then — 

Fulv.  (r.)  Gisippus — 

Gis.  Now,  can  it  anger  you,  that  I  have  played 
A  mirthful  humor  on  ye  both  ?    I've  known 
Long  since  of  this,  and  did  but  seek  to  punish  ye 
For  your  distrust. — Oh,  I  have  laughed  at  ye — 
To  see  your  fears,  and  must  again — [Aside.]  0  Gods, 
My  brain  is  scorched  ! — 

{Puts  his  hand  to  his  forehead  and  pauses. 

Fulv.  What  mean  you,  Gisippus  ? 

Gis.  You  say  right,  I  was  wrong  to  trifle  with  you, 
But  now  the  jest  is  ended — I  shall  laugh, 
No  more — oh,  never — never  ! 
I  pray  you,  pause  one  moment — 

Fulv.  My  kind  friend  ! 

Gis.  (Rising  sloioly,  and  assuming  a  gradual  firmness.) 
Come  this  way,  Fulvius  !    Sweet  Sophronia  ! 
(I  must  no  longer  call  thee  my  Sophronia  \) 
Give  me  your  hand  too.    As  you  gave  this  hand 
To  me,  even  while  your  heart  opposed  the  deed, 
I  give  it  now  to  one  who  loves  you  dearly, 

[Joins  their  hands 
And  will  not  find  that  heart  against  him.  There, 
You  are  one.    And  may  the  Gods  who  look  upon 
Those  plighted  hands,  shower  down  upon  your  heads 
Their  choicest  blessings.    May  you  live  and  grow 
In  happiness  ;  and  I  will  ask  no  other, 
Than  to  look  on  and  see  it  ;  and  to  thank 


34 


GISIPPUS. 


[Act  II. 


My  fate  that  I  was  made  the  instrument 
To  bring  it  to  your  bosoms. 

Fulc.  Oh,  my  heart's  physician  ! 
Was  this  indeed  designed,  or  do  you  mock  us  ? 

Gis.  This  way  a  secret  passage  will  conduct  you 
To  the  Temple  porch.    Medon  I  know  has  set 
His  soul  upon  my  marriage  ;  but  let  me  meet 
That  consequence — the  lightest.     Haste — haste  I — Your 

bride  waits  ; 
Nay,  fly  !    Stay  not  to  question  nor  to  speak  ; 
The  interruption  may  give  space  for  thought, 
And  thought  may  bring — madness  I    Away  !  the  rite 
Attends  you.    Medon  is  not  there — nor  any 
Who  may  prevent  you.    With  my  sword  and  life 
I  will  defend  this  passage. 

[Fulvius  uses  an  action  of  remonstrance,  but  yields  to  the 
impetuosity  of  Gis.,  and  leads  Soph,  out,  l.  d.  f. 
Gone  !    Aloue  ! 

How  my  head  whirls,  and  my  limbs  shake  and  totter, 

As  If  I  had  done  a  crime.    I  have — I've  lied 

Against  my  heart.    What  think  ye  now,  wise  world  ? 

How  shows  this  action  in  your  eyes  ?    My  sight 

Is  thick  and  misty — and  my  ears  are  filled 

With  sounds  of  hooting  and  of  scorn — 

What  should  I  fear  ?"    I  will  meet  scorn  with  scoru  ? 

It  is  a  glorious  deed  that  I  have  done. 

I  will  maintain  it  'gainst  the  wide  world's  slight, 

And  the  upbraiding  of  my  own  racked  heart ! 

Oh  !  there  I'm  conquered  ! 

[Sinks  into  a  seat,  l.  u.  e.,  in  a  desponding  attitude, 
takes  wreath  from  head  and  looks  at  it. 
Hyaix.— [  Without.'] 

When  thy  rite,  as  now, 

By  youthful  tongues  is  spoken — 
And  youthful  hearts  record  the  vow 

That  never  may  be  broken — 
Loves  like  these,  ;tis  thine  to  bless; 

Theirs  is  perfect  happiness! 
Chorus,  Loves  like  these,  &c. 

\Tl\z  Curiam  slowly  falls  during  the  Chorus. 


END  OF  ACT  21, 


SCENE  I.] 


GISIPPU3. 


35 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — A  Public  Place  near  the  house  of  Sophronia. 
Enter  Mf.dox  and  Friends,  l. 

Med.    Married  to  Fulvius  ?    A  free  maid  of  Athens 
Bartered  unto  a  stranger  ! — All  rny  schemes, 
Each  plan  for  onr  advancement,  crushed  and  scattered — 
But  we  can  reach  him.    There  is  none  amongst  you 
But  is  a  Medon,  friends  ? 

All.    Not  one. 

Med,    Then  all 
Bear  on  their  brows  a  portion  of  this  slight 
Gisippus  throws  upon  our  house.    An  age 
Will  not  restore  us  the  ascendant  1  What 
May  he  deserve,  who  sunk  our  house  in  Athens  ? 

1st  Friend.    A  worse  shame  than  he  gave. 

2d  Friend.    We'll  send  oar  slaves 
To  scoff  him  in  the  streets. 

Med.    I  have  a  deeper  penance  for  him  : 
Meet  me  an  hour  hence  by  the  Areopagus,        [All  cross 
You  shall  know  more. 

1st,  Friend.    We  will  not  fail.    [Exeunt  all  but  Medon,  r. 

Med.    Away,  then  ! 
lie's  ruined,  and  I  am  not  sorry  for  it. 
Ho  !  Phcax  ! 

Enter  The  ax,  r. 

Pheax.    Do  not  stay  me — I  must  find 
Gisippus,  and  prevent  his  ruin — 
Med.    How — 

Pheax.    I  fear  to  wait  the  telling — 

Med.    You  may  safely — 
He  will  come  this  way  shortly. 

Pheax.    There's  a  clamour 
Among  his  creditors,  with  whom,  indeed, 
(For  a  philosopher) he  is  well  provided, 
And  pledged,  I  know,  beyond  his  means.    They  say 
He  gave  away,  with  your  Sophronia's  contract, 
The  only  hope  of  compensation  left  them  ; 
But  now  I  met  old  Davus,  the  rich  usurer, 
Taxing  his  withered  limbs  to  seek  his  pleader. 


36 


GISIPPU3. 


[Act  Iir. 


Otic  shrivelled  firm  close  pinioned  to  his  side, 
The  hand  fast  clenched  upon  a  musty  parchment, 
Which,  next  his  skin,  looked  fair  ;  the  other  wandering, 
With  bony  fingers  stretched,  in  the  act  to  grasp, 
(Fit  emblems  of  the  miser's  double  craft, 
Getting  and  keeping) — his  small  weasel  eyes 
Glanced  every  way  at  once — his  countenance 
Looked  like  a  mask  made  out  of  an  old  drum-head, 
In  which  the  bones  at  every  motion  rattled 
From  mere  starvation.    Flesh  is  a  garment,  sir, 
Par  too  expensive  for  his  use.    Oh  !  how, 
As  he  went  hobbling  by  me,  I  did  curse 
The  law  that  has  forbid  the  art  of  beating  1 

Enter  Gisiprus,  b.  s.  e. 

I  never  had  so  much  ado  to  make 
My  right  foot  keep  the  peace. 

Med.    ( Aside.)    I  am  glad  to  hear  this — 
"  Go  you  to  Rome  with  Fulvius  ?" 

Pheax.    "Ay,  to-morrow — " 
Oh,  Gisippus,  I've  sought  you.    You  are  like 
To  speed  ill,  if  you  tarry  here. 

Gis     (  Crosses,  l.)  Trouble  me  not — I  know  it. 

Pheax.    ( n.)    There  are  three  of  them 
Have  ta'en  possession  of  your  villa.    Nay  ; 
'Tis  said  the  sale  of  that  will  not  half  quit 
The  charges  you  have  drawn  upon  your  state, 
And  they  assail  your  person — Davus  has 
Already  sued  for  that. 

Med.    (l.)    So  Gisippus — 

Gis.    ( c.J    So,  Medon — 

Med.    This  is  all  you  merit  now 
From  me,  I  am  sure.    You  soon  shall  find  that  I 
Esteem  the  wrong  you  have  done  me,  at  its  value  !— 
Your  jeering  shall  not  serve.    How  will  you  excuse 
Your  thankless  slight  ? 

Gis.    (l.)    Good  Medon,  I  have  nothing, 
Nothing  to  offer  in  excuse  ;  my  foul 
And  henious  crime  must  e'en  lie  on  my  head  ; 
And  so — good  day. 

Med.    I've  something  for  your  ear  first. 

Gis.  You  look  like  one  who  would  not  be  at  peace 
With  the  world,  nor  with  himself.    If  it  be  so, 


Scene  I.] 


GISIPPUS. 


3T 


You  could  not  find  a  wretch  in  Greece  more  apt 
To  meet  you  at  midway,  than  he  who  stands 
Before  you  now. 

Med.    I  am  very  sure  of  that  ; 
But  you  mistake  my  resolution  quite  : 
You  shall  have  deeper  cause,  soon,  for  this  bravery  : 
There's  Davus,  in  whose  danger  you  are  placed, 
He  will  be  crying  for  his  sesterces  : 
Look  not  to  me  for  aid. 

Gfis.    To  thee  ?  away  ! 
Tain  and  presumptuous  man  !    I  hold  thee  not 
So  high  in  my  esteem  to  be  thy  debtor, 
If  thou  should'st  sue  for  it. 

Med.    You  shall  hear  from  me.  [Exit,  r.  s.  k. 

Pheax.    (n.)    This  is  his  nature. 

Gis.    ( c.)    Oh  !  I  blame  him  not. 
We  that  do  study  things  in  their  first  cause, 
Are  not  so  quickly  moved  by  the  effect  : 
'Tvvas  his  fate  that  denied  him  so  much  heart 
To  comprehend 

An  act  of  free,  disinterested  friendship, 
Of  friendship  and  of  love,  deep  love,  Sophronia  ! 
Gods  ! — there  are  men  upon  this  earth,  who  seem 
So  mixed  and  moulded  with  this  earth — so  like 
Mere,  dull,  material  engines — that  for  all 
The  purposes  for  which  man  looks  to  man, 
It  were  as  well  a  piece  of  curious  mechanism 
Walked  in  humanity's  name,  and  wore  its  semblance. 

"  Enter  Thoon,  r. 
"  Oh  !  you  arc  come  ?" 

Pheax.    I  much  fear  Medon's  malice 
May  work  some  evil  'gainst  you  :  I  will  follow  him, 
And  bring  you  news,  should  any  danger  threaten.  [Exit. 

1  Gis.    Well,  what  says  Davus  ? 

"  Thoon.    He  says  you  have  deceived  him  villainously, 
"  And  he  will  give  no  time. 

"  Gis.    Did  you  not  tell  him 
"  That  which  I  bade  you,  as  touching  Fulvius  ? 

"  Thoon.    I  did,  and  so  much  mercy  found  I  in  him, 
"  He  gave  you  one  whole  hour  to  try  that  chance, 

"  Gis.  Chance  ?  Pish  ! — Ah,  heaven  !  they  are  here  !* 
I  thank  ycu,  Pheax — Davus  and  minions  1  [Seeing  them,  r. 


S3 


GISIPPUS. 


[Act  III 


Enter  Davus  and  Officers,  p.. 

Daws.  Yonder's  your  prisoner. 

Gis.  Where's  the  time  you  promised  ? 

Davus.  I  am  changed, 
And  will  not  thrust  you — Fulvius  is  for  Rome. 

Gis.  I  tell  you  now  again,  as  I  have  said, 
You  shall  not  be  defeated  of  your  own. 
Before  night  close  I  will  satisfy  you, 
But  leave  the  means  to  me. 

Davns.  I  will  not  take 
The  promise  of  a  sybil,  if  the  certainty 
Rest  in  my  hands.    Advance  ! 

Gis  Then,  by  the  Gods,  [Drawing. 
My  freedom  shall  be  dearer  than  my  life, 
Or  his  who  dares  assail  it. 

Davus.  Heed  him  not — 
You've  uumbers,  and  authority  to  aid  you. 

Gis.  They  shall  be  needed. 

Enter  Fulvius  and  Norban,  l 

Fulv.  Hold  !  hold  !  Gisippus— 

[Gisippus  crosses  quickly  to  Davus. 

Gis.  ( Apart  to  Davus  earnestly.) 
By  the  honor  of  my  name — by  ail  I've  lost, 
And  all  I  hope  to  gain — I  swear  to  yon. 
You  shall  be  satisfied  before  to-night ; 
But  leave  me  now — and  free  till  then. — Hash  !  speak  not — 
My  hope — life — hangs  upon  it  ! — Let  me  pray  you, — 
I  will  deserve  this  kindness. — At  my  villa — 
Thouknowest  the  spot — You'll  find  me  grateful,  Davus. 

[Davus,   SfC,  go  out,  r.    Gisivpus  remains  looking  after 
them. 

Fulv.  (l.  c.)  What  men  are  these?    What  meant  this 

brawl,  Gisippus  ? 
Gis.    ( ft,  c.J    Insolent  knaves  ! — I  was  about  to  amerce 
them  lor  it, 

Had  you  not  crossed  me.    Words  bred  from  a  trifle, 
And  now  forgot.    Fulvius,  I  give  you  joy. 

Fulv.    Thanks  for  the  cause. 

Gis.    I  have  something,  Fulvius, 
If  you  are  not  o'er  pressed  for  time,  to  give 
Your  private  ear. 


Scene  I.] 


GISIPPUS. 


S9 


Fulv.  Go  to  your  lady,  boy, — 
I  will  attend  her  quickly.  [Exit  JYorban,  r. 

Gh.  (Aside.)  How  shall  I  tell?  Will  it  not  appear 
As  I  took  my  ground  upon  my  claim  and  sought 
The  very  time  it  could  be  least  resisted  ? 

Fulv.  What,  musing,  Grisippus  ? 
"  What  would  you  stay  me  for? 

"  Gis.  ( Aside.)  And  yet — to  think 
"For  such  a — nothing — which,  without  regard 
"To  that  which  cannot  be  repaid,  he  owes  me, 
"  And  far  above, 

"My  very  life  should  now  be  put  in  question, 
"  Or  more — my  freedom  here — 

11  Fulv."  What  syllogism  [Advancing  to  him. 

Do  you  hunt  down  now,  Grisippus  ?    Pray  you,  jump 
To  your  conclusion,  and  dismiss  me  quickly. 

Gis.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  ancient  spirit  live  again. 
( Aside.)  I  do  him  wrong  to  hesitate — 

Fulv.  Grisippus — 
Thus  do  we  stand.    My  time  is  limited 
By  her,  to  whom,  as  yet,  I  owe  it  all ; 
You  can  allow  for  this  ? 

Gis.  Indeed  !  so  absolute  ? 
Well,  I  will  not  obstruct  your  pleasures,  Fulvius — 
You  had  better  leave  at  once.  [  Crosses,  l. 

Fulv.    Psha  ! — now  you  are  angry. 

Gis.    Come — I  will  tell  thee  that  which  troubles  me, 
And  in  a  few  words.    When  your  Sophronia — 
Re-enter  Norban,  r. 

Nor.    A  message  from  the  Quaestor. 

Gis.    So  soon  cut  short  1 
Fnter  a  Centurion,  r.,  who  gives  a  scroll  to  Fukius. 

Fulv.    Come  to  prevent  my  wishes  ? — ( Reads.)  Ha  !  my 
friend — 

Now  give  me  joy,  indeed.    I'm  greeted  here 
With  an  appointment  from  the  Emperor, 
In  the  Eastern  wars — If  fortune  hold  her  humor, 
I  shall  be  rich  in  every  happiness 
That  friendship,  love,  and  honor  can  bestow- 
As  the  mad  promise  of  the  wildest  hope 
That  ever  killed  Content. 


40 


GISIPPUS. 


[Act.  III. 


Gis.    Your  joy  is  mine — 
Ful.    1  have  a  faith  in  that. 
Gis.    Now,  Fulvius,  hear  me — 

Ful.    ( To  Centurion.)   If  memory  err  not  widely,  'tis 
four  years 
Since,  in  those  very  regions,  Anthony 
Unwove  the  web  Yentidius  had  spun 
With  Roman  toil,  and  dyed  with  Roman  blood. 
You  served  him  in  those  wars  ?  [Centurion  lows. 

Come  to  my  house,  [Crosses,  R. 

You  are  my  guest  until  we  leave  together  ; 
We  will  retrieve  the  shame  of  that  discomfiture,  . 
And  call  young  glories  from  Armenian  fields 
To  grace  the  statues  of  our  children's  children. 

[Ejit  icilh  Norban  and  Centurion,  R. 

Gis.    Why,  welcome,  then,  imprisonment  and  ruin  1 
Light-hearted  youth  ;  and  yet  it  is  but  lightness. 
"  'Tis  true,  a  gift  not  freely  given,  is  none, 
"  And  gratitude  itself  is  compensation  ; 
"  Then  what  care  I,  if  his  remain  unpaid  V* 
Re-enter  Fulvius,  r. 

Ay,  memory,  have  ye  woke  ? 

Fulv.    1  had  forgot — 
Friend  1  Gisippus  ! — 

Gis.    I  thank  thee,  Fulvius — 
I  thought  you  should  not  leave  me.    Did  you  know 
How  deep  a  fear  thy  coming  hath  dispersed, 
You'd  say  I  had  a  cause — 

Fulv.    What  fear  ? 

Gis.    No  matter — 
'Tis  gone — you  are  returned — "  and  I  am  satisfied"— 
I  will  suspect  no  more. 

Fidv.    Did  you,  then,  doubt  me  ? 
I  had  forgot— you  told  me  'twas  a  matter 
Of  serious  import  that  you  wished  to  speak  on. 

Gis.    And  so  it  is.    But  at  some  other  time 
I  can  detail  it  more  at  ease — you're  now 
Too  happy  to  attend  me.    Will  you  promise 
To  come  this  even  to  my  villa,  near 
The  suburbs,  and  I'll  give  you  all. 

Fulv.    Most  willingly. 


Scene  I.] 


GISIPPUS. 


41 


Gis.    You  bridegrooms  have  short  memories.    Will  you 

strive 

To  keep  it  on  yours,  Fulvius  ? 

Fulv.    Good  Gisippus, 
I  will  not  swear  ;  but  I  will  say,  indeed, 
The  friendship  I  profess  lies  not  wholly 
Upon  my  lip,  as  that  request  would  say  ; 
'Twill  be  no  toil  to  keep  it  on  my  memory. 

Gis.    Enough.    Let  ruin  shake  her  wintry  wings 
Over  my  sunny  fortunes — blight  and  darken  them  1 
Let  blistering  tongues  be  busy  with  my  name, 
And  that — and  all  the  comforts  I  have  known 
Pass  from  me,  to  return  no  more.    Thou,  Fulvius, 
Shall  have  no  part  in  the  dread  consummation, 
And  I  can  bear  it  calmly. 

Fulv.    Yet  I  hope 
You  ne'er  may  need  that  consciousness 

Gis.    I  thank  thee, 
A  nd  it  is  my  hope,  too.  Farewell,  my  friend  ; 
But  fail  not  of  your  word,  if  you  would  have 
That  hope  made  true.    Hope  is  not  kin  to  fate, 
And  there's  a  discord  when  they  meet  and  jar, 
The  heart's  ease  dies  to  witness.    Fare  ye  well ! 

(Exit  Fulvius,  r. 

I  am  a  truster — and,  I  fear,  a  fond  one, 
And  yet  could  doubt, — What,  Pheax  ? 

Enter  Pheax  rapidly,  r.  s.  e. 
Pheax.  Oh,  Gisippus  ! 

Gis.    What  is  the  matter  ?    Give  your  wonder  words. 

Pheax.    You  are  my  friend.    Oh,  I  have  a  tale  for  you  ; 
Gisippus,  if  you  take  my  counsel. 
You'll  not  remain  in  Athens. 

Gis.    Not  remain 
In  Athens  ? 

Pheax.    No — 'tis  known — 

Gis.    What's  known? 

Pheax.    That  you 
Have  given  Sophronia  to  the  Roman 

Gis.    Oh  ! 

They  know  it  ?    I  am  glad  of  it.    They  know 

That  I  have  given  her  to  her  ancient  love, 

And  my  first  friend.    What  do  their  wisdoms  say? 


42 


GISIFPUS. 


[Act  III. 


Upon  this  novel  guilt?    If  it  be  crime 

To  give  my  heart,  life,  soul,  away — 

For  thou  to  me  wer't  all,  Sophronia — if  it  be  a  crime 

To  tear  up  my  own  comfort  by  the  roots, 

To  make  a  garland  for  another's  head, 

Then  I  have  sinned  most  deeply,  and  my  reason 

Shall  venerate  their  censure. 

Pheax.    Oh,  Gisippus  ! 
You  jest,  upon  a  mine — You  are  in  peril ! 
All  Athens  is  incensed  against  you  and 
Your  Roman  friend  :  they  practise  on  your  safety 
Even  this  moment  they  are  met 
Before  the  Areopagus. 

Gis.    I  pray  you,  Pheax, 
What  statute  in  our  code  makes  giving  penal  ? 
Cold,  miserable  slaves  ! 

Pheax.  Nay,  'tis  not  so  ; 
The  charge  is  deep  and  foal. 

Gis.    What  is  it  ? 

Pheax.    I  dare  not  say  it. 

Gis.    Come,  come,  out  with  it !    Quick  ! 
There  is  more  daring  in  your  silence. 

Pheax.    Thus,  then, 
They  have  spoken  loudly  of  your  wants,  my  friend, 
And  Fulvius'  wealth.    You  start?    Ay,  that's  the  charge  ! 
They  trump  it  to  the  state  that  you  have  had 
Mean  views  in  this.    But  it  has  struck  you  deep — 
You  do  not  speak?    You  do  not  answer  me  ? 

Gis.  I  cannot  speak  my  thought !  I'm  wonder  1  rage- 
And  wonder,  all  !  ( Pauses. 

The  furies  tear  their  hearts — lash  them  with  worse 
Than  the  fell  stings  they've  cast  on  mine  !    Cods  !  what! 
Make  venal  that  I  gave  my  peace  to  purchase  ; 
And  to  my  friend  ! — Give  me  the  slanderer's  name, 
That  I  may  tear  the  lying  tongue  from  out 
His  jaws,  and  "trample  on  the — I  am  choked; 
"  I  cannot  find  a  voice  to  curse  them. 

il Pheax.    Friend ! 

"  Gis.    Gold  !  trash  ! 
"  What  !  truck  and  barter  name  and  happiness  ? 
"  Who  could  have  dreamdd  this  ?    Oh  !  this  stabs  home  ! 
*l  Though  that  the  devil  of  gain  had  mastered  so 

Men's  hearts — they  felt  ar  d  owned  no  warmer  impulse. 


Scene  II.] 


GISIPPU3. 


43 


"  None  but  a  devil  could  have  foreseen  a  slander 
u  So  tainting  and  so  foul.    Pah  I  it  is  vile  1" 

Plicax.    Let  it  not  move  you  thus 

Gis.    Let  it  not  move  me  ! 
I  tell  thee,  were  this  calumny  but  breathed 
In  the  silence  of  the  night  to  a  deaf  ear — 
Could  I  but  know  that  it  was  born  in  thought, 
Though  never  uttered — 'twould  move  me  more  than  ruin, 
Than  loss  of  wealth,  and  every  temporal  good. 
B  it  told  through  Athens  !  registered  in  her  courts  I 
Oh,  Jove,  destroy  my  consciousness  at  once, 
And  that  way  give  me  rest. 

Phax.    But  Fulvius— 

Gis.    Ay,  well  thought  on.    Fulvius  ! 
You'il  meet  him  ere  this  even.    Whatever  fails, 
Bid  him  remember  his  appointment  with  me. 
These  troubles  rush  in  Hoods  upon  me  now, 
And  I  must  ask  another  hand  to  stem  them, 

Pheax.    Where  do  you  meet,  then  ? 

Gis.    At  mv  villa. 

Pheax.    There  ! 
You  are  deceived,  my  friend. 

Gis.    lie  has  promised. 

Pheax-.    Trust  me, 
He  cannot  do  it. 

Gis.    I  tell  thee,  he  hath  promised. 

Pheax.    He  has  deceived  you,  then. 

Gis.    How  !    On  my  need  ! 
Deceive  me? — Fare  you  well !    Believe  me, 
You  are  deep  in  error,  sir. 

{Exeunt  severally,  Gis.  l.,  Pheax,  r. 
Scene  II. — Before  the  Villa  of  Gisippus. — Evening. 
Enter  Fulvius  and  Attendants,  r. 

Fulv.    Your  lady  is  before  ? 

Atten.    She  waits  your  coming. 

Fulv.    ( u)    Stay  !  is  not  this  the  villa  of  Gisippus  ? — I 
cannot  stop  now. 
Come — follow — I  will  send  a  packet  to  him, 
To  tell  him  of  this  sudden  chance.    The  train 
Is  gone  before  ? 

2d  Atten.    It  is,  my  lord. 

Fulv.    Away,  then!  (Exeunt,  l.,  Fulvius  writing. 


44 


GISIPPUS. 


[Act  III. 


"Enter  Gisippus. 

"  Gis.    I'll  liave  thee  only — let  them  take  all  else, 
"  My  natal  bower,  home  of  my  infancy, 
"  My  hope's  first  nurse  thou  wert,  and  thou  shalt  be 
"The  tomb  of  its  decline.    Hark  !  hush  !  a  stir? 

( Gees  towards  the  villa. 
"  All's  still  as  death  !    Davus  has  not  been  here 
"  With  his  minions.    Fulvius,  too,  not  yet  arrived  ! 
"  He's  not  impatient  in  it — and  yet,  weighing 
"His  feelings  now,  by  those  which  once  were  mine, 
"His  stay  should  not  make  me  so.    Soft  you  !  Chremcs  ! 
"  A  ppointed,  too,  for  travel !  ( Enters  the  house." 

Enter    Pheax,  Chremes,  Lycias,  and   three    Slaves  with 
luggage,  r. 

Chre.    Go,  overtake  thy  comrades. 
Here,  did  he  say  ?  (To  Pheax. 

Pheax.    (it.)    Who,  my  friend !    Medon  ?  Yes? 
Pie  bade  me  tarry  here  but  for  one  hour, 
He  would  attend  you. 

Chre.    I  cannot  stay  his  snail-paced  movements  ;  Fulvias, 
I  see,  is  hurrying  on — we  must  overtake  him  1 
Haste,  fellows  !    You  wait  Gisippus  here. 

Pheax.    Ay,  and  could  wish  it  were  with  more  of  com 
fort. 

Chre.    Medon  and  I  escort  the  bride  to  Rome. 

Lycias  ! 

'  Lyc.  Well ! 

Chre.    (c.)  Now, 
What  think  you  of  this  honeymoon  travelling  ? 
How  will  it  meet  the  approval  of  your  lady  ? 

Lyc.    I  busy  not  myself  about  my  betters, 
But  to  obey  them. 

Chre.    You  are  right. 

Lyc.    I  wanted  not 
Your  word  for  that. 

Chre.    I  have  a  strange  foreboding 
That  you  and  I  will  quarrel  one  day. 

Lyc.    Like  enough. 

Chre.    Thou  art  the  most  ill-favored  knave ! 
Lyc.    I  am  glad 
You  think  so. 


Scene  II.] 


GISIPPUS 


45 


Chre.    Why  ? 

Lyc.    I  shall  think  better  of 
My  looks  from  this  day  forward 
Chrc.    Do  I  lie,  then? 

Lyc.    Few  Greeks  make  much  of  that. 

Chre.    Go,  join  the  train  ; 
But  that  thou  a"t  an  useful  slave,  and  I 
Have  weightier  matters  now  upon  my  hands, 
I'd  beat  respect  into  thee  ! 

Lyc.    Hate  and  hypocrisy 
May  come  that  way — Respect's  a  sturdier  fellow. 
But  that  you  are  my  master's  friend,  you  should  not 
Repeat  that  threat,  Greek  1  [Exit  Lycias,  l. 

Clue.    Did  you  ever  see  such  an  ill-conditioned  slave? 
But  fare  ye  well  : — Dull  life  for  you  in  Athens, 
Whilst  we  are  revelling  in  Rome.    Tell  Medon 
I  could  not  tarry.    I  must  needs  see  Fulvius, — 
He's  yet  in  sight.    Farewell.  [Exit  Chremes,  l. 

Pheax.    Farewell,  good  Chremes. 
Too  light  of  heart  e'en  for  a  passing  thought, 
That  bears  gloom  with-it.    Gisippus  not  arrived  I 
Oh,  my  friend  ! 

Enter  Gisippus  f  rom  the  house,  r.  s.  e. 
You  are  true  to  your  appointment. 

Gis.    ( Advancing,  R.  c.J    Is  it  a  fault? 

Pheax.    (l.)    jSow,  I'll  be  sworn  you  have  not  yet  for- 
given me 
For  doubting  Fulvius. 

Gis.    And  did  you  doubt  him  ? 

Pheax.    No.    You  say  truly  :  him  I  do  not  doubt  ; 
His  will,  I  am  sure,  is  true — It  is  the  circumstance 
Prevents  him  from  fulfilling  his  engagement. 

Gis.    Prevents  him  ? 

Pheax.    Why,  you  surely  do  not  now 
Expect  him  ? 

Gis.    Pheax,  I  beseech  you  leave  me, 
Your  jesting  is  ill-timed.  [Crosses,  l. 

Pheax.    You  are  too  petulant, 
My  friend.    Have  you  not  heard  that  Fulvius 
Has  been  commanded  for  Armenia  ? 

Gis.    All  hath  been  told  me.    Now,  I  pray  you,  go  ! 
I  know  he  has  had  letters  of  such  import. 


46 


gisippus. 


[Act  III. 


And  that  he  will  obey  them  and  depart 
To-morrow  even. 

Pheax.    This  even,  my  friend. 

Gis.    To-morrow  even — 

Pheax.    (r.)     This  even — 
This  oight — this  very  hour — he  hath  arranged 
All.    There  has  been  a  second  messenger, 
To  bid  him  to  the  camp  this  very  hour. 
Chremes  goes  to  Rome,  with  Medon  and  Sophronia  ; 
Nor  is  it  like  they  will  again  behold 
Vour  friend,  'till  the  campaign  be  ended. 

Gis.    (l.)    Pheax  !  my  friend  i 

Pheax.    Nay — 
I  seek  but  to  prepare  you  for  the  truth  ! 
I  will  not  answer  thee 

In  words  ;  but  look  you  yonder  !  [Pointing  off,  l. 

'Tis  his  train — 

You  know  he  bade  them  wait  on  yonder  hill. 

Gis.    I  see  it  ! — but — but — "  O,  ye  mighty  Gods, 
Can  there  be  truth  in  this?"    He  is  not  with  them ! 
lie  has  sent  his  train  before,  and  tarries  yet, 
To — Ho  1  they  disappear  along  the  hills, 
"  And  if  he  lied  in  speaking  of  the  time, 
"  Why  may  not  all  be  false  that  he  has  uttered  V 
The  (rods  do  know  I  fear  the  consequence 
iVo  tithe,  so  much  as  finding  my  heart  fooled 
In  its  free  confidence.    You  still  look  cioubtingly  : 
Do  you  think  lie  will  deceive  me  ?    Do  you  think 
He  will  not  come  ?    Have  I  given  up  my  love,  my  all, 
To  worthless  hands  ?    Do  you  think — Oh,  peace  !  I  will 
As  soon  cower  on  my  knee,  and  dread  the  toppling 
Of  far  Hymettus  on  my  villa  here, 
As  a  fall  in  Fulvius'  friendship,  or  the  word 
He  once  hath  plight.    I  stand  upon  his  honor, 
And  'tis  proud  ground.    Oh,  I  can  laugh  at  doubting. 

[A  distant  shout  is  heard. 

What  are  those  sounds  ? 

Pheax.    ( r.)    Do  you  not  know  your  cause 
Is  now  in  question  ?    I  came  to  tell  the  news, 
Which  I  am  grieved  to  utter — but  'tis  true, 
That  it  goes  hardly  forward. 

Gis.    Let  it  go 
Even  as  it  will.    I  care  not  now  :  I'm  heedless 


Scene  II.] 


GISIPPUS. 


47 


Of  all  the  external  properties  of  life. 
I  have  braced  up  my  heart  to  meet  the  worst 
That  fate  can  cast  upon  my  fortunes  ;  all 
That  men  call  evil,  1  can  meet  and  suffer  : 
While  one — one  only  fear  is  spared  me. — 

Enter  Chresies,  with  a  scroll,  L, 
Chre.    Fulvius  sends — 

Gis.    (Eagerly.)    Ha  !  sayest  thou  !    Well !    Oh,  un- 
believer, look, 

And  let  thy  spirit  blush  for  grace  !— ( To  Pheax.)  What 

says  he  ? 

Where  didst  thou  leave  him  ?  How  ?  When  will  he  come  ? 
Speak  1  speak  ! —  , 

Chre.    He  cannot  come,  Gisippus.         [Gisippus  starts. 

Pheax.    ( n.J    He  is  with  his  train— 

Chre.    (u)    He  is  far  before  it,  Pheax.    He  has  taken 
horse 
With  the  Centurion. 

"  Pheax.    (  To  Gis.)    Look  not  on't  thus  ghastly  ! 
"  What  is  the  consequence  that  makes  you  dread 
"  His  absence  thus  V 

Chre.    He  bade  me  say,  this  letter 
Would  give  you  his  reason. 

Gis.  ( After  a,  pause,  taking  the  letter.)  Merciful  Jove  ! 
Is't  so  ? 

I  was  mistaken  in  thee,  Fulvius.    "  Honesty 
"  Hath  oi't  Ixfore  been  made  the  dupe  of  seeming." 
Look  !  as  I  tear  this  scroll — 
By  the  just  Gods  ! 

I  thought  there  was  but  one  true  heart  on  earth, 
And  was  deceived  ! — "  It  is  as  black  and  false 
"  As  hell  could  make  it.'- — As  I  tear  this  scroll, 
Piece  after  piece,  and  crush  it  in  the  dust, 
So  I  abjure  the  wretch  who  mocked  me  with  it, 
For  ever  ! — What  ! — Oh,  I  am  dealt  with, 
Most  justly — oh,  most  meetly — "  Mighty  heaven  I 
"  I  cannot  see  well  yet" — Forgot  ! — Forsaken  1 

Pheax.    ( l.)    I'll  write  to  him — 

Gis.    I'll  cleave  thee  to  the  earth, 
If  thou  wilt  say  that  word  again  ! — No,  no  ; 
The  gratitude  that  must  be  roused  from  slumber 


48 


GISIPPUS. 


[Act  III. 


Is  never  worth  the  waking — Let  it  sleep  !  [Shouts,  r. 
Again  !  hark  ! — 

Pheax.    Be  at  peace,  I  see  the  citizens 
Are  coining  forth.    Remain  :  I'll  soon  return, 
And  tell  thee  of  the  issue.  [Exit  Pheax,  r. 

Gis.    Now  I  would 
That  there  were  fierce  wars  in  Greece  !    Oh,  Gods  I 
The  comfort  of  a  lawful  suicide  1 
The  joy  of  hunting  after  death,  when  life, 
Grown  hopeless,  goads  us  to  the  chase  1  the  rapture 
Of  meeting  him  bare-breasted  on  the  field, 
Amid  the  roar  of  fight  that  shuts  out  thought, 
And  rushing  to  his  blood-red  arms,  without 
The  fear  of  the  high  heaven's  displeasure. 

Re-enter  Pheax,  r. 

Pheax.    Friend ! 

Gis.    The  judgment  ?  hath  it  passed  ?    Stay  !  stay  ! 
I  read  it  in  thine  eyes.    It  is  a  doom 
Too  terrible.    But — Well  !  the  sentence  ? 

Pheax.    You've  been  decreed  the  slave  of  your  chief 
creditor, 

Davus. 

Gis.    Not  that  !    A  sword  and  buckler,  Gods  ! 
And  an  unfettered  hand  !    Then,  fute,  I  dare  thee 
J'o  prove  my  heart  is  softer  than  a  man's 
Should  be.    Cast  me  free  upon  the  world, 
With  all  my  injuries  upon  my  head, 
[  still  will  move  your  wonder — and  mine  own  ; 
But  slavery  !    Oh,  Gods  1  no,  no  !  [Crosses,  r. 

Pheax.    There  is 
A  way  to  shun  it. 

Gis.    Oh ! 

Pheax.    Fly ! 

Gis.    Oh,  cold  ingratn  ! 
That  he  should  leave  me  thus  !    'Tis  well — 

Pheax.    They  come  ! 

Gis.  You  do  not — cannot  feel  how  much  he  owes  me  I 
But  you  are  right,  I  am  free  yet  ! 

[Rushing  out,  l.,  is  stopped  by  Medon,  with  two  or  three 
friends  meeting  him,  l.  s.  e. 
Med.    Not  so. 


Scene  II.] 


G1SIPPUS. 


49 


Gis.    Ha  I  hence  !    Thou  causeless  hater  !    Art  thou 

come 

To  look  upon  the  proud  man's  ruin  ?    Hence  ! 

I  have  no  part  with  thee. 

Thou  art  to  me  a  thing  material, 

.Mindless  and  heartless — a  mere  physical  hindrance  ; 

As  such  I  put  thee  from  my  path,  unmoved 

And  so  forget  thee. 

Enter  Davus,  accompanied  by  a  Sicilian  Merchant,  and  three 

Officers. —  Gisippus  is  seized* 

Med.    ( l.J    Ha !    How  this  scorn 
Becomes  the  slave  of  Davus  ! 

Davus.    (  To  Gis.)    Kot  my  slave  ! 
Oh,  not  my  slave,  indeed.    I  have  sold  ye,  Gisippus, 
To  this  worthy  man.    He  sails  for  Sicily 
To-night,  and  you  must  with  him. 

Gis.  ( c.)  Sicily  ? —  [Pausing. 
Ha  ! — Rome — I  am  content. 

Davus.    You  would  be  proud 
To  know  how  dearly  I  have  sold  ye,  Gisippus. 

(Shows  a.  parchment  to  Gisippus,  uhich  lie  hands  to 
Chremes. 

Gis.    Give  this  to — ha  !  ha  !  my  young  friend  ! — and 

bid  him 

Bind  it  up  with  his  laurels — Fare  ye  well  ! 

[Gives  his  hand  listlessly  to  Pheax. 
Chre.    All  will  yet  be  well,  Gisippus. 
Gis.    Ay,  like  enough  ; 
Fare  ye  well. — Home  ? — (Aside.)    It  may  be  done. — Come 
on  ; 

I  am  ready  to  attend  you,  sirs — the  dust 
I?  on  my  head  ;  I'll  be  a  patient  bondsman. 

[Exeunt  Medon  and,  Chr ernes,  l.,  Gisippus  and  the 
rest,  r. 

END  OF  ACT  III. 


50 


GISIPPUS. 


[Act  IV 


ACT  IV. 

Scexe  I. — A  magnificent  Ante-Room  in  the  Palace  of  Fulvius, 
at  Home.     Chorus  and  shouting  heard  without. 

HYMN, 

Welcome  home  !  welcome  home ! 
Guardians  of  the  weal  of  Home. 
Over  laud  and  over  sea, 
The  eagle's  wings  spread  jrallantly. 
Guardians  of  the  weal  of  Rome, 
Welcome  home  !  welcome  home  ! 

[During  the  Chorus,  which  is  heard  nearer  and  more  dis- 
tinctly, Soldiers  cross  from  l.  to  R.  s.  e,,  with  spoils  and 
trophies,  then  enter  the  Servants. 
1st  Ser.    It  is  our  lord. 
They're  now  before  the  palace; 

2d  Ser.    Haste,  man,  the  show,ll  be  past, 
Are  we  too  late  ?  [  To  Macro,  entering. 

Macro.  Xo  questions  now  :  I've  letters  for  Sophronia — 
Lead  me  to  her.  [To  Servant. 

You'll  be  in  time  for  Fulvius  ; 
He's  now  passing. — Lead  on,  sir. 

[Exeunt  Macro  and  Servants,  l.  s.  e. 

Eider  Medon  and  Ghremes,  with  Xorban,  l. 

Med.    Go,  boy — wake  up  your  lady. 
Nor.    She  is  ill,  sir. 

Med.    She  must  not  be  ill,  sir  ;  .- 
Ill  on  the  morn  of  her  lord's  triumph  ! — Go —  | 
He  will  be  terribly  angry  if  lie  come  } 
And  find  her  ill.    Bid  her  get  well  again, 
And  speedily,  if  she  would  keep  his  favor. 

Nor.    I'll  tell  her  so,  sir.  [Exit,  R.  s.  &, 

Mtd.    (r.)    Do  so,  sir.    I  know 
The  cause  of  this  :  some  new  neglect  from  Fulvius. 

Chre.    ( e.J    Why  do  you  let  him  treat  your  sister  so  ? 

Med.    Why  do  I  let  him  treat  myself  still  worse? 
These  swift  successes  have  completely  changed  him  ; 
He's  prouder  than  the  emperor,  and  looks 
On  his  old  friends  as  they  were  born  his  bondsmen  ; 
All  but  you,  Chremes.    You  are  still  his  friend. 
His  bosom  counsellor  ;  for  poor  Sophronia, 


Scene  I,] 


GISIPPUS. 


51 


She  is  the  first  wife  that  was  ever  jealous 
Of  her  husband's  reputation. 

Chre.    We  must  let  him 
Tire  of  his  high-flown  wishes  quietly. 
Some  check  of  fate  may  humble  him,  and  turn 
His  heart  into  its  old  affections  yet. 

Enter  Sofhronia  attended  by  four  Ladies,  R. 

Med.    Good  day,  Sophronia — 

Chre.  ( Crosses  to  her.)  Madam,  I  have  news  for  you 
You  will  be  glad  to  hear. 

Soph.    These  letters  and  the  din  of  shouting  crowds 
Have  made  them  stale,  good  Chremes  ; 
But  tell  your  news. 

Chre.    Your  lord  now  enters  Rome, 
The  Senate  have  decreed  him  an  ovation 
For  his  late  conquests  in  Armenia. 

Soph.    How  does  he,  sir  ? 

Chre.    Still  discontented. 
He  says,  had  th'  Emperor  been  half  so  prosperous, 
He  had  had  a  triumph,  and  fifteen  days'  thanksgiving  ! 
But  he  must  rest  content  with  an  ovation — 
A  poor  ovation. 

Soph.  ( rJ  Nothing  would  content  him — 
The  honors  he  aspires  to,  when  he  gains  them, 
Look  mean  and  worthless  in  his  eyes  ;  but  this 
Becomes  not  me  to  say. 

Med.    ( l .)    What,  do  you  mourn 
At  this  ? 

Chre.    ( c.)    He  is  made  Prajtor,  too. 

Soph.    I  would 
I  were  once  more  in  Athens — never  knew 
What  love — nor  what  neglect  was. 

Med.    Ay — I  know 
Who  would  have  made  a  kinder  husband. 
You  are  sorry  for  your  scorn  of  Gisippus. 

Chre.    Hush  ! 

Soph.    Have  you  heard  of  him  since,  Chremes  ? 
Chre.    No,  madam. 

Soph.    Poor  Gisippus  1 — Nor  told  my  lord  his  fate  ? 
Chre.    Madam,  I  thought  that  would  have  been  a  vain 
cruelty 


52 


GISIPPUS. 


Act  IV. 


Till  I  had  found  Gisippns,  and  given  Fulvius 
The  power  of  yet  redeeming  past  neglects. 

Soph.    Perhaps  you  were  right. 

Chre.    Oh  1  I  am  sure  I  was. 

Soph.    When  may  I  look  for  Fulvius  1    If  "he  thinks 
My  welcome  worth  the  having,  he  is  sure  of  it. 
I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him. 

Chre.    I  pray  you,  seem  so,  madam, 
He  will  be  disappointed,  else, 
He  was  impatient,  so  he  bade  me  say, 

[Distant  shouts  of  1  Io.1 
Until  the  Senate's  will  dismissed  him  home, 
To  hear  his  sweetest  welcome  from  your  lips. 

[Shouts  without,  l.,  of  1 lo  the  Prator.1 

They  come  ! 

Med.    'Tis  he,  Sophronia  !  [Shouts. 

Officers.    ( Entering,  l.)    The  Praetor  ! 

Enter  Fulvius,  attended,  as  f  rom  a  triumph,  l. 

Fulv.    Oh  !  young  Athenian, 
I  am  glad  to  see  thee  I    From  the  general  this — 
This  greeting  from  the  Praetor — and  a  long  kiss 
From  the  Roman  boy,  who  wound  himself  into 
The  heart  of  a  proud  lady  some  while  since 
By  a  temple  porch  at  Corinth. 

Soph.    My  dear  lord  ! 

Fulv.    These  weighty  honors  which  my  country  throws 
Upon  my  hands,  wean  me  from  quiet  fast. 
I  would  they  let  me  stay  in  humbleness 
With  thee,  and  found  some  more  ambitious  mark 
For  favor.    Ay,  you  smile,  but  it  is  true. 

Soph.    I  would  it  were,  Fulvius. 

Fulv.    It  is,  believe  me.    Come,  where  are  your  sports  ? 
I  must  have  naught  but  smiles  and  happy  faces 
For  these  few  days  at  least,  the  Senate  gives  me  ; 
But  ever  holiday  looks  from  thee,  Sophronia, 
Come,  let  us  see  your  revels.    [  Shouts  of  1  Io.' — Exeunt  all 
but  Chremes  and  Lycias,  r. 

Chre.  ( r.)  I  saw  thee  grinning  at  the  porch  but  now, 
As  I  passed  in  :  what  meant  ye  ? 

Lye.    ( h.)    Do  not  ask  me  : 
I  am  at  your  command — give  me  your  orders, 
And  let  me  go  at  once. 


Scene  I.] 


GISIPPUS. 


53 


Chre.    ( Crosses  l.)    Then  make  all  ready  ; 
Bid  the  dancers  shake  their  legs  and  put  their  toes  in 
order, 

And  the  musicians  puff  themselves  into  wind-gods, 
Men  of  immortal  lungs.    Let  the  cook  look  to  it : 
If  he  so  far  forget  his  office  as 
The  matter  of  a  snipe's  wing  burnt,  he  dies  ! 
We'll  have  him  served  up  in  one  of  his  own  dishes, 
And  save  a  goose  by  it. — Lastly,  for  thyself, 
When  you  have  done  this,  get  into  some  corner, 
And  be  not  seen  until  the  feasting's  ended — 
That  face  would  mar  all  merriment. 

Lyc.    ( r.)    I  bear  you. 

Chre.    And  no  more  silent  jeers  or  sneering,  if 
You  love  unbroken  bones. 

Lyc.    Fish  !  pish  ! 

Chre.    ( c.)    Speak  out,  dog  I 
What  say  you  ? 

Lyc.    I  hate  talking. 

Chre.    You  hate  everything, 
I  do  believe. 

Lyc.    A  great  many. 

Chre.    Empty  fool  ! 
Where  learned  ye  this  affected  sullenness  ! 
You  are  ever  growling — Do  you  never  bite  ? 

Lyc.    I  have  no  cause. 

Chre.    Fool,  knave  !    Are  these  no  cause  ? 

Lyc.    None.    Do  your  words  pinch,  maim,  or  wound 
me  ?  Say, 

I  call  you  idiot — brainless  boy — puffed  beggar — 
Do  these  words  leave  their  marks  upon  ye  ?    Ha  ! 

[  Chremes  strikes  him. 

Y"cu  have  done  it  now  ! — 

[  £  eizes  Chremes,  and  draws  a  dagger 
Enter  Fulyius  and  Medon,  r.  s.  e. 
Fulv.    Ho  !  Lycias  !  how. is  this  ! 
A  dagger  drawn  in  your  lord's  house  ? — Yile  slave, 
Do  you  dare  indulge  your  ruffian  humors  here  I 
What  !  Chremes,  too  ? 

Lyc.    He  struck  me  without  cause. 

Chre.    Why,  faith — I  did  so, 

Fulv    I  am  weary  of 


54 


GISTPPU3. 


Act  IV. 


Your  causeless  jarring,  and  must  end  them  quickly. 
For  you,  sir,  here's  a  quittance  for  your  services — 
I  have  done  with  you —       [Gives  money — Lycias  crosses,  l. 

Chre.    Nay,  Fulvins — 'tis  too  much. 

Fulv.    It  shall  be  as  I  say — Away  1 

Lyc.    ( To  Chremes.)  Remember, 
You  struck  me  without  a  cause. 

Fulv.    What  does  he  mutter  ? 

Chre.    I  care  not. 

Lyc.    You  may  care  ere  long.  [Exit,  l. 

Fulv.    (c.)    This  letter 
Dispatch  to  Baix,  to  the  Emperor. 

[Med on  crosses  and  exit,  l 

I  have  a  herd  of  clients  yet  to  sec. 

Chremes,  attend  me,  we'll  soon  dismiss  them, 

And  then  I  have  a  charge  of  grave  import 

For  thee,  ere  I  proceed  unto  the  Capitol.  [Exeunt,  l. 

Scene  II. — Near  the  Capitol,  before  a  poor  Inn. — Distant 

Music  heard  at  intervals. 

Enter  Mutius,  from  Inn,  o. 

Mutius.    This  way,  sir — this  way.    I  have  now  at  last 
Told  you  my  mind  ;  I  pray  you  understand 
The  course  that  I  would  have  you  take. 

Gisippus  enters  from  the  house,  l.  d.  f.,  in  a  mean  garb  ;  his 
countenance  pale  and  wasted,  his  hair  hanging  neglected  on 
his  shoulders,  and  his  whole  appearance  completely  changed. 
He  leans  against  the  doorway. 

Gis.    (l.  c.)    I  pray  you,  do  not  send  me  forth  to-night ; 
I  am  a  stranger  in  Home,  and  evening  falls  already, 
I  will  but  draw  my  toga  o'er  my  head, 
And  lie  against  your  fire. 

Mutius.    It  must  not  be. 

Gis.    Are  you  so  hard  ?    Well,  Roman,  I'll  not  press  it. 
But  pray  you,  say  what  festal  sounds  are  these 
That  ring  through  the  wide  city  1    Whose  is  yon  mansion  ? 
It  is  a  splendid  one. 

Mutius.    Splendid,  indeed  ! 
What  else  should  be  the  abode  of  Titus  Fulvius  ? 

Gis.    (  Coming  forward  quickly.)    Of  Titus  Fulvius? 

Mutius.    Titus  Fulvius.    Are  you 


Scene  II.) 


GISIPPUS. 


55 


So  long  in  Rome,  and  know  not  Titus  Fulvius  ? 
If  you  would  feast  your  eyes  with  the  sight  of  a  great 
man, 

Stand  close  ;  he  will  come  this  way  presently ; 
You'll  not  mind  fasting  for  three  days  after. 

\Eodt  into  house,  l. 

Gis.    Know  Fulvius  ? 
I  had  known  less  of  man,  and  more  of  peace, 
Had  I  ne'er  known  him.    Oh,  weak,  failing  pride  I 
Do  you  desert  me  now  I  need  ye  most  ? 
"  Will  you,  who  have  upborne  my  soul  against 
"  The  tyranny  of  passion,  leave  me  now, 
"  To  humble  in  my  fall  V\    Oh,  for  a  spot 
Of  green,  Greek  turf  !  a  little — to  hide 
My  woes,  my  memory,  and  my  doubts  together  ! 
Where  must  I  wander  now  ?    Thejlews  of  eve 
Fall  on  me,  and  I  have  no  home  of  shelter 
To  shroud  me  till  the  morn-break. 
1  will  seek  one — 

But — what  do  I  behold  ?    The  gate  is  opened, 
And — hush  !  my  sense  be  steady  for  one  moment — 
That's  Chremes — and — by  all  my  miseries, 
'Tis  he  himself  !    Where  shall  I  hide  me  ?    Heavens  ! 

[Knacks  at  the  door, 
What !  ho — within  !   They  came  upon  me  this  way — 
Well  ?  wherefore  should  I  shun  him  ?    Let  him  blush  : 
The  shame's  not  mine — I  grew  to  this  for  him. 
Ha!  should  I  stay?    I'll  try 
If  he  will  know  me  yet.    But  I'll  not  speak — 
No,  no,  I'll  merely  look  into  his  eyes, 
And— 

Enter  Fulvius  and  Norban,  with  Lictors,  Citizens  pressing 
on  him.  Gisippus  stands  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  stage, 
gazing  intently  on  Fulvius,  his  cloak  drawn  close  around 
his  neck  so  as  to  conceal  part  of  his  features. 

1st  Cit.    My  lord — my  noble  lord — 

2d  Cit.    My  lord,  I  pray  you,  hear  me. 

Fulv.    (l.)    Good  citizens,  I  cannot  now  attend. 
If  you  will  meet  betimes  at  the  capitol, 
I  will  to-morrow  hear  your  grievances  ; 
And  if  their  remedy  lie  in  my  power, 


5G 


GISIPFUS. 


[Act  IT. 


Rest  assured  you  shall  not  feel  them  long. 
Citizens.    To-morrow  !  to-morrow  ! 

Enter  Chremes,  with  scroll,  l. 
1st  Cit.    Then  we  will  meet  there,  Fulvius. . 
Fulv.    As  you  please. 
It  shall  be  as  I  say,  believe  me,  friends. 
Omncs.    Long  live  the  Prretor  ! 

Citizens.    Do  you  hear  that  ?    "  Friends  \n  Long  live 
our  noble  Praetor  ! 

[  Shout, — Exeunt  Citizens,  n.  and  l. — Fulvius  looks  at 
Gisippus.  who  lowers  his  toga  a.  little  as  he  meets  his 
eye. — Fulvius  turns  carelessly  away. 
Gis.    ( r.)    The  eye  can  be  as  vocal  as  the  tongue, 
And  his  hath  told  me  I  am  known. 

Fulv.  ( l.)  You  to  your  mistress  go — bid  her  expect  me 
Yet  earlier  than  she  looked  for.  Exit  Norban.  L.  s.  e. 

Chre.    (l.)  Fulvius, 
I  spoke  with  Varro  on  that  matter  now  ; 
He  could  do  nothing. 

Fulv.    Nothing  !  Did  he  give  you 
His  reasons  ? 

Chre.    They  were  of  such  a  kind,  he  said, 
As  could  be  only  trusted  to  yourself  ; 
This  letter  will  disclose  them. 

Gis.    Silent  yet  ? 
I  would  I  were  beneath  the  deepest  wave 
Of  dark  Tyrrhene,  to  hope  or  doubt  no  more. 
"  There  is  a  fate  that  chains  me  to  this  ground, 
"  A  spell  about  my  feet  and  on  my  strength, 
"And  I  must  wait  the  sentence  of  his  eye." 

[Fulvius  talks  apart  with  Chremes. 
Chre.    Then  as  you  bid  me,  Fulvius,  I  will  act, 
Though  still,  I  fear,  in  vain. 

Fulv.    Have  I  not  said  ? 
Away  !  if  you  should  fail,  I  will  myself 
Attempt  him.    Will  you  take  a  guard  along  ? 
You  pass  the  burying-ground  of  Afer,  and 
The  night  is  falling. 

Chre.    Not  I.    I  wear  my  guard  upon  me.        [Exit  u 
[Fulvius  motions  the  Lictors  forward.    They  approach 
Gisippus,  who  stands  f  ull  in  the  ivay  of  Fulvius. 


Scene  II.] 


GISIPPU3. 


57 


Fulv.    On,  lictors  !    (Reading  a  letter.)    Varro  refuse 

my  first  request  ! 
1st  Lie.    Staucl  back  ! 
Way  for  the  Praetor  ! 

Gis.    I  would  speak  with  the  Praetor. 
1st  Lie.    Thou  speak  with  him  ? 
A  Greek  dog  bar  the  Praetor's  way  in  Rome  ? 

Fulv.    What  words  are  these  ?    Who's  he  disputes  our 
way  ? 

Ho  !  smite  him  to  earth,  if  he  will  not 

Give  room. — Back,  slave,  and  know  your  place  ! 

On,  lictors  ! 

[A  Lictor  strikes  Gis.  aside — they  all  pass  off  r. 
Gis.    Bright  Jove  ! 
Art  thou  the  stranger's  keeper  ?    Let  me  press 
My  head — and  crush  the  thought  to  rest  for  ever. 

[He  presses  his  forehead  with  his  hands  and  remains 
motionless. 

Re-enter  Chremes,  l. 

Chre.  One  thing  I  had  forgot.  What  !  gone  already  I 
Ho  !  Fulvius  ! 

Gis.    (c. — starting.)    Curse  him,  heavens  !  who'er  thou 
art, 

Let  dumbness  seize  thee  ever  for  that  word  1 

I  had  just  then  begun  to  tell  my  soul 

That  it  was  false,  that  I  had  never  heard 

The  name  ;  and  I  was  dropping  quietly 

Into  a  dull,  a  thick,  oblivious  madness. 

That  busy,  meddling  tongue  has  waked  my  heart 

To  memory,  sense  and  agony  again.  [  Crosses,  l. 

Chre.    ( r.J    What  means  this  ! 

Gis.    Oh  !  I  see  and  know  thee  now. 
You  are  Chremes,  the  Athenian  ?    Worthy  mates  ! 
He  is  gone  that  way — Titus  Fulvius, 
Did  you  not  call  him  ?    You  are  fitted  friends — 
Two  heartless,  thankless,  mean  self-seekers — villains  ! 

[Crosses  to  r. 

Chre.    Madman  ! 

"Gis.    (Clasping  his  hands.)    Oh  !  would  to  heaven  it 

were  so  with  me. 
"  Chre.    Who  art  thou  ?  what—" 


68 


GISIPPU8. 


[Act  IV. 


Gis.    I  am  Gisippus. 

Chre.    Heavens  ! 

Gis.    You  knew  me  well. 

Chre.    {After  a  pause.)    Though  you  had  been  my  bro- 
ther, Gisippus, 
The  wondrous,  fearful  change  that  has  come  o'er  thee, 
Had  been  enough  to  baffle  memory. 
Even  when  instinctive  nature  helped  its  efforts. 
"  My  friend  !  my  countryman  I"    Could  you  suppose  me 
That  traitor  to  old  Greece,  and  pleasant  Athens, 
To  meet  her  exiled  son,  and  the  companion 
Of  my  school-days,  and  pass  him  knowingly 
In  a  strange  land  ?    I  pray  you,  be  convinced 
That  you  have  wronged  me.    M  I  have  sought  you  long, 
"  And  now  rejoice  to  find  ye.    By  this  hand, 
"  This  hand  that  I  am  glad  to  grasp — I  do." 

Gis.    I  must  believe  you,  sir — 
"  And  yet,  though  I  should  grieve  to  think  you  scorned  me, 
"  I  should  not  wonder,    In  this  dark,  false  world, 
"  Nothing  shall  ever  now  surprise  me  more." 
Pray,  come  not  near  me,  sir  ;  you  are  a  soldier, 
And  wear  the  arms  of  honor.    "  I  have,  too, 
"  A  sword,  but  long  forgot  the  use  of  it." 
I  am  an  abject  thing — a  beaten  wretch —  [Crosses,  l. 

"Furies  and  hell  !    Oh,  peace  !  peace  !   Sleep  and  death  1" 

Chre.    ( r.)    What  is  it  moves  you  thus  ? 

Gis.    ( Going,  c.)    "  Oh,  cursed  memory  !" 
You  see  me  where  I  stand  before  you,  Chremes — 
It  was  not  so  when  you  have  known  me  better. 
You  can  remember  what  I  was  ;  you  know 
How  sweet,  how  fair  a  light  of  promise,  fortune 
Shed  on  my  days  of  youth.    You  know  how  warmly 
My  confident  soul  opened  itself  to  Fulvius  ; 
You  know,  too,  somewhat  more  than  at  this  time 
My  tongue  can  freely  utter.    Would  you  think 
How  all  that  has  been  answered  ? 

Chre-    fit.)    With  a  truer 
And  deeper  gratitude  than  you  believe. 

Gis.    This  is  that  gratitude  : —  indeed,  a  deep  one, 
"  Too  deep  for  me  to  find  its  virtue."    Hear  I 
When  I  left  Athens. 

Despised  and  hated  by  my  fellow-citizens, 


Scene  II.] 


GISIPPUS. 


59 


Yet  naught  repenting  ihat  which  I  had  clone, 

I  toiled  for  freedom,  gained  it,  and  set  forth 

To  Koine.    You  start  !    Was  that  a  meanness  ?    No  ! 

True,  he  had  wronged  me  ;  and  my  pride  was  stung  by  it. 

Alas !  you  know  not,  sir,  how  very  quietly 

And  silently  that  same  tall  fabric,  pride, 

Is  sapped  and  scattered  by  adversity, 

Even  while  we  deem  it  still  unmoved,  unshaken: 

lie  was  my  friend  once — and  my  life  now,  having 

No  aim  nor  object,  1  said  within  myself — 

That  I  would  look  once  more  upon  the  happiness 

1  had  raised  from  the  wreck  of  mine  own  hopes, 

And  so  to  death  or  solitude.    Look  here,  sir  ; 

Here — here  I  met  him  ;  here  he  bade  his  slave 

Strike  me  from  out  his  path  ! — his  own  high  hand 

Scorned  the  low  office — here  his  ruffian  smote  me  I 

And  here  I  stand  to  tell  it  ! 

"  CAre.    Yet — 

"  Gis.    No  hasty  judgment ! 
"  Beheve  me  I'm  not  sunk  so  low  to  bear  that  ; 
"  But  a  strange  numbness  crept  uponrny  senses, 
"  And  left  me  cold  and  powerless." 

Chre.  You 
Are  over-apt  ( and  tis  most  natural  in  you,  J 
To  fancy  what  you  feared  was  real. — Trust  me, 
You  are  deceived  to  think  that  Fulvins  knew  you  ; 
"  His  fortunes  have,  indeed,  altered  him  strangely, 
"  But  yet  he  is  not  what  you  deem  him. 

"  Gis,  This 
"  Is  kindly  meant  in  you — I  thank  you  for  it ; 
"  But  I  have  eyes  and  ears,  and  a  heart,  Chremes, 
"  To  see,  and  hear,  and  feel  what  passes  round  me, 
"  Even  as  it  doth  pass."    Fulvius  knew  me  well  ! 

[Going,  l. 

"1  thank  you,  though,  that  you  should  seek  to  give  me 
"  The  bliss  of  thinking  otherwise." 

Chre.  Gisippus, 
You  do  not  go  yet  ! 

Gis.    Wherefore  should  I  stay  ? 

CAre     Gome  with  me  to  his  palace. 

Gis,    To  his  palace  ? 
What  /    Be  indeed  a  beggar?    The  Tiber  to  my  bed,  first  I 


GO 


GISIPPU3. 


[Act  IV. 


Chre.    Hear  me,  Gisippus  ! 

Gis.    You  are  the  only  man  that  knows  of  this  ; 
II  ow  if  you  should  betray  me  now,  and  publish 
My  shame  unto  the  world  ?    "  You  are  like  to  do  it. 
"  1  have  known  liars  with  as  clear  a  brow 
"  As  that.    And  if  you  should  by  the  just  Gods, 
"  I  would  not  rest,  sleep,  wink,  till  I  had  torn. 
14  Your  heart  out  and  destroyed" — but  you'll  not  do  it. 
You  know  me  better.    If  yoii'd  have  me  honor  you, 
You  will  not  speak  of  this  to  your  general. 
Farewell  !    1'il  meet  ye  soon  again  !  [Going,  l. 

Chre.    My  friend  ! 

Gis.    No  friend  !  I  charge  ye,  call  me  brother  Greek, 
But  friend  !    No,  no,  friendship  and  I  have  found 
Each  other  out,  shook  hands,  and  parted  quietly. 

[Exit  Gisippus,  l. 

Chre.    He's   gone !  poor  Gisippus  !    how  worn,  who 

changed  ! 

Here  is  a  humbler  for  the  pride  of  Fulvius  ! 

But  may  not  some  device  be  yet  invented 

To  reconcile  the  friends  once  more  ?    I'll  think  on't. 

As  I  proceed,  'tis  worth  the  plotting.  [Exit,  r. 

Scene  III. — A  Burying  Ground.  Night. 
Gisippus  discovered  seated  on  a  tomb,  l. 

Gis.    This  is  death's  court ; 
Here  does  he  hold  his  reign  of  stirless  fear, 
Silence  his  throne — his  robe  of  majesty 
The  hue  of  gathering  darkness.    "  Here  his  minister, 
"  The  night-bird  screams,  and  the  hoarse  raven  iterates 
"  His  warning  from  the  left."    Diseases  flit 
Like  spectres  through  the  gloom,  clothed  in  damp  mist 
And  tainted  night-air — yet  the  grim  slayer 
Will  send  no  kindly  shaft  to  me.  [Goes  to  r. 

Will  the  dead 

Afford  me  what  the  living  have  denied — 
Rest  lor  my  weary  limbs,  and  shelter  ?  Here 
At  least  I  shall  find  quiet,  if  not  ease, 
AjuI  host  who  do  not  gaudge  their  entertaining, 
Evan  though  the  guest  be  misery.    Colder  hearts 
Than  those  which  rest  within  this  sepulchre, 


Scene  III.] 


GISIPPUS. 


61 


I've  left  all  in  the  health  of  lusty  life, 
Informing  bosoms  harder  thau  its  marble. 
Then  I  will  be  your  guest,  ye  silent  dead, 
Would  I  could  say,  your  fellow  slumberer  1 

[He  enters  the  tomb.    Lycias  comes  from  "behind  tomb 
looks  off,  b.,   then  again  conceals  himself.  Chremes 
wrapped  in  his  mantle,  passes  over  the  stage,  clogged  by 
Lucias.    A  clashing  of  swords  is  heard  without  l.  u.e. 
Chre.    (Within.)    What  ho  !  help  !  murder  I  villain  ! 
Lye.    (  Within.)    Do  you  feel  me  now  ? 
Chre.    ( Withm.)    Too  deeply  ! 
Lyc.    (  Within.)    There's  a  quittance  for  ye. 

[Gisippus  re-enters  from  the  tomb,  draws  and  rushes  off, 
Chremes  staggers  in,  icounded,  l.  u.  e.  He  falls  near 
the  tomb. 

Chre.    Ah  !  villian  !    He  has  cut  me  to  the  veins, 
Revengeful  villain  !    Oh  ! 

Re-enter  Gisippu3,  l.  u.  e.,  his  sword  drawn, 

Gis.    The  ruffian  has  escaped.    What  luckless  wretch 
Has  thus  been  made  his  victim  ?    You  great  Gods  I 
Chremes  ! 

Chre.    Whoe'er  thou  art,  I  pray  you  give 
These  scrolls  to — to —  [Dies. 

Gis.    This  is  thy  justice,  Death  ! 
I,  who  would  greet  thee  with  a  lover's  welcome, 
And  kiss  thy  shaft,  have  wooed  its  point  in  vain  ; 
This  wretch,  whose  hope  was  green,  thou  seekest  uncalled 
Relentless  destinies  !    Am  I  become 
Such  an  abomination  in  your  sight, 
To  love  me  is  perdition  ?    Where — oh,  where 
Is  my  offence  ?    But  there  may  yet  be  hope. — 
Breathless  and  cold  !    My  last  friend,  fare  ye  well  I 

[Voices  within)  l.  u.  e.  m  This  ivay  !  this  way 
They  come.    Is  it  not  now  within  my  reach  ? 
I  have  it  !    It  shall  be  so  ! 

[He  stains  his  hands  and  sword  with  the  blood  of 
Chremes,  and  leans  forward,  kneeling  over  the  body. 
1st  Cit.    ( Without,  l.  u.  e.J  This  way  the  sounds  pro- 
ceeded.   Bid  you  send 
To  warn  the  Praetors  guard  ? 


C2 


GISIPPUS. 


[Act  IV. 


2d  Cit,    Yonder  they  are. 
Omens.    (  Without.)  This  way  !  this  way  1 
Enter  Citizens,  Medon  and  Guards,  some  with  torches,  from 
l.  u.  E. 

Med.    (l.  c.)   'Tis  as  I  feared.     Chremes  !  unhappy 
countryman  ! 
Who  has  done  this  ? 

1st  Cit.    ( l.)   Do  you  not  mark  that  man, 
With  bloody  hands,  who  kneels  beside  the  body  ? 
He  is  the  murderer. 

Med.    Speak  !  if  thou  art  he. 
Confess — it  will  be  useless  to  deny  it. 
Confess — 

Gis.    Why,  what  confession  do  you  need? 
I  am  here  before  you,  in  my  hand  a  sword 
Unsheathed,  his  blood  upon  that  sword — yet  warm 
From  the  divided  breast.    What  would  ye  more  ? 
Can  words  declare  more  ? 

Med     Guards,  away  with  him  I 

Omens.    Away  with  him  ! 

Med,  Away  with  him  to  the  Prastor  I  Yet  one  word  ] 
What  moved  ye  to  this  act? 

Gis.    I  had  my  reasons. 

Med.    Take  him  away. 

Gis.    Now  I  have  made  it  sure. 

Med.    What  dost  thou  say  ? 

Gis.    I  say  that  I  rejoice 
In  that  which  I  have  done.    Do  as  you  list ! 

Med     Omens.    Away  with  him  !  \Exexmt  l  u  b. 

END  OF  ACT  IV. 


ACT  Y. 

Scene  I. —  The  Palace  of  Fidvius. 

Enter  Fulvius  and  Sophronia. 

Fulv.    ( l.  c. )  Ay,  I  have  heard  enough.    Why  should 
I  tax 

Your  brother  with  this  base  and  coward  act, 


Scene  I.] 


GISIPPUS. 


That  am  myself  more  base  in  my  neglect 
Than  he  in  his  revenue.    Poor  GHsippus  I 
Banished  from  Athens,  sold  to  slavery  ! 
And  now  a  wanderer  without  home  or  name  ! 
Perhaps  the  tool  of  some  low  task-master, 
Or  the  cold  inmate  of  a  nameles  grave. 

Sogh.    (n.  c.)    Yet,  Fnlvius — 

Fulv.    Ha  !  how  say  you  ? 

Soph.    Do  not  turn 
Thus  sullenly  away,  nor  yet  look  on  me 
With  that  regard  of  cold  reproach.    I  knew. 
No  more  than  thou  of  this  unhappy  chance, 
And  mourn  it  full  as  deeply. 

Fide    They  were  all 
Your  friends  who  did  this. 

Soph.    And  is  that  my  crime  ? 

Fulv.    I  would  give  all  again  that  I  have  gamed — 
My  present  joy — the  memory  of  my  past, 
And  all  my  hope  of  future  happiness, 
To  stand  beneath  the  roof  that  shelters  him, 
And  know  my  gratitude  not  wholly  fruitless. 
Oh  !  I  am  torn  up  with  vain  regrets  !  [Crosses,  R, 

Soph.    For  my  sake. 
Speak  not  of  this  to  Medon.    What  is  past. 
His  ruin  could  not  better.    If  you  love  me, 
You  will  not — 

Fulv.    If  I  love  ye  !    Do  you  make 
A  doubt  of  that  now — If  I  loved  you  not, 
I  had  been  now  at  peace  with  my  own  heart, 
"  I  had  not  brought  a  stain  upon  my  soul 
"  That  no  repentant  sorrowing  can  whiten." 
Had  I  i)Ot  loved  thee  better  than  fair  virtue, 
I  might  be  now  an  honorable  friend  ; 
"And  those  quick  rushing  memories  that  crowd 
"  Upon  my  heart  in  thick  and  painful  throbbings, 
"  Might  shadow  it  with  that  calm,  peaceful  influence 
"  Of  Gratitude  discharged,  and  friendship  cherished, 
"  Which  makes  remembrance  sweeter  than  enjoyment.** 
Pve  loved  ye  but  too  well ! 

Enter  ISTorban  and  tivo  Servants,  l. 

Nor.   My  lord — the  murderer 


Gisiprue. 


Act  V, 


Of  Chremes  bade  me  give  these  scrolls  unto  you  : 
The  dying  man  had  placed  them  in  his  hands. 

Fulv.    Have  you  spoke  with  him,  then  ? 

Nor.    By  your  command, 
I  went  into  his  dungeon  at  the  sunrise, 
I  found  him  waking  then.    His  wasted  form 
Lengthened  out  in  the  dust — one  shrivelled  hand 
Beneath  his  head,  the  other  with  lank  fingers 
Parting  the  matted  hair  upon  his  brow, 
To  take  the  greeting  of  the  early  light 
Upon  its  sickly  swarth — his  eyes  were  fixed- 
On  nothing  visible  ;  a  dead,  dull  light 
Was  in  them,  the  cold  lowering  of  despair, 
His  whitened  lips  were  parted,  and  his  teeth 
Set  fast,  in  fear  or  agony.    I  spoke — 
My  words  dropped  harmless  on  his  ear.    I  sought 
By  kindness  to  attract  his  note,  and  placed 
Before  him  food  and  wine — he  pushed  them  from  him, 
Then  looked  into  my  face,  shrunk  back — and  hid 
His  own  within  the  foldings  of  his  garment.    [Crossis,  r. 

Fulv.    ( Turning  over  the  scrolls)    Ay,  here  is  Varro's 
answer.    He  had  come 
A  few  hours  sooner,  I  had  saved  a  friend  by't. 
And  here — ha  ! 

Nor.    ( r.  c.)  Madam,  mark  my  lord  ! 

Soph.    What,  Fulvius  ! 

Fulv.    Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
Joy  !  triumph  !  rapture  !    He's  in  Rome — Away  ! 
Fly  !  seek  him — all  !    The  man  who  finds  him  first 

Soph.    Whom  ? 

Fulv.    (c)  Gisippus ! 
My  old  friend  is  in  Rome.    Oh,  ye  kind  Gods, 
My  heart  is  gushing  towards  ye  ! 

Medon.    (  Without,  l.)  Fulvius  ! 
What,  Fulvius  ! 

Enter  Medon,  rapidly  ,  l.,  a  sword  drawn  and  bloody  in  his 
hand. 

He  is  innocent  ? 
Fulv.    Who  ? 
Med.   The  Greek. 


Scene  I.] 


GISIPPUS. 


65 


Fuh'.    How  say  ye  ?    Are  your  waking  sensesliars  ? 
What  weapon's  that  ? 

Med.    The  sword  of  the  innocent  man, 
Whom  even  now  they  lead  to  execution. 
It  came  thus  stained  in  his  defence  of  Chremes, 
Not  in  his  murder — Lycias,  your  frecdmau, 
He  has  confessed  the  deed. 

FilIv.    (  Taking  the  sword  as  he  crosses,  l.)  Ha  !  Gods  ! 

Med.    Away  ! 
Will  you  see  a  second  murder  ?    They  are  slaying  him  ! 
It  is  an  hour  since  he  was  taken  forth. 

Fidr.    (  Giving  him  a  ring.)    Fly,  Medon,  with  my  war- 
rant, and  release  him. 
Haste  !  haste  !    [Exit,  Medon  and  the  two  Attendants,  l. 
'Tis  strange  !    Some  poor,  life-weary  wretch, 
Who  hoped  uuwisely  in  his  youth — and  droops 
To  find  his  dreams  but  dreams. 

Nor.    I  fear,  my  lord, 
They  will  be  too  late, 

FvZv.    I  would  not  have  it  so 
For  more — [Looks  on  the  sword,  examines  it  closely,  and  rapid- 
ly recognizes  it,  and  remains  fixed  in  horror. 

Soph.    My  lord  !    You  terrify  me,  Fulvius  I 
Speak — Speak  ! 

Fnter  Macro,  l 

Macro.    The  murderer  of  Chremes — 

Fulv.    (  Turning  and  raising  his  sword.)    Liar  ! 
Ho  !  smite  him  dumb,  some  one  !    My  hand  is  powerless. 
My  limbs  are  cold  add  numb  ! 

Soph.    My  lord  !  my  love  I 

Macro.    His  last  request. 

Fulv.    'Tis  in  thine  eye  and  lip  ! 
Thou  comest  to  tell  me  I'm  a  murderer, 
The  murderer  of  my  friend — and  if  thou  dost, 
The  word  shall  choke  thy  life.    (  Seizes  him.)  Croak  out  thy 
news  ! 

Raven  !  if  they  must  tell  of  death — or  peace  ! 
Give't  not  in  words. — Look  me  a  hope  !    He  lives  ? 
He  does  !  he  does  !    You've  looked  me  into  strength  again  I 
Gisippus  !  Gisippus  1  Gisippus ! 

[Rushes  out,  l. —  Sophronia,  §~c.f  follow. 


66 


GISIPPUS. 


[Act  V. 


Scene  II. —  The  Place  of  Execution. 

Gisippus  standing  in  chains. — Decius,  Guards,  c]'C. 

Dec.    (rJ  Remove  his  chains.    [Liclor  tales  off  chains. 

Gis.    (c.)  Let  it  be  ever  thus  — 
The  generous  still  be  poor — the  niggard  thrive — 
Fortune  shall  pave  the  ingrate's  path  with  gold, 
Death  dog  the  innocent  still — and  surely  those 
Who  now  uplift  their  streaming  eyes,  and  murmur 
Against  oppressive  fate,  will  own  its  justice. 
Invisible  rider!  should  man  meet  thy  trials 
With  silent  and  lethargic  sufferance, 
Or  lift  his  hands  and  ask  heaven  for  a  reason  ? 
Our  hearts  must  speak — the  sting,  the  whip  is  on  them  ; 
We  rush  in  madness  forth  to  tear  away 
The  veil  that  blinds  us  to  the  cause.     In  vain  ! 
The  hand  of  that  Eternal  Providence 
Still  holds  it  there,  unmoved,  impenetrable  ! 
We  can  but  pause,  and  turn  away  again 
To  mourn — to  wonder — and  endure. 

Dec.    ( Advances,  n.)  My  duty 
Compels  me  to  disturb  ye,  prisoner. 

Gis.    I  am  glad  you  do  so,  for  my  thoughts  were  grow- 
ing 

Somewhat  unfriendly  to  me. — World,  farewell  ; 
And  thou  whose  image  never  left  this  heart, 
Sweet  vision  of  my  memory,  fare  thee  well  ! 
Pray  you,  walk  this  way.    Ccmes  down,  c. —  To  Decius. 
This  Fulvius,  your  young  Praetor,  by  whose  sentence 
My  life  stands  forfeit,  has  the  reputation 
Of  a  good  man  amongst  ye  ? 
Dec.    Better  breathes  not. 

Gis     A  just  man,  and  a  grateful.    One  who  thinks 
Upon  his  friends,  sometimes  ;  a  liberal  man, 
"  Whose  wealth  is  not  for  his  own  use  f  a  kind  man, 
To  his  clients  and  his  household  1 

Dec    He  is  all  this. 

Gis.    A  gallant  soldier,  too  ? 

Dec.    I've  witnessed  that 
In  many  a  desperate  fight. 

Gis.    In  short,  there  lives  not 


Scene  II.] 


GISIPPUS. 


07 


A  man  of  fairer  fame  in  Rome  ? 
Dec.    Nor  out  of  it. 

Gis.    Good.    Look  on  me,  now,  look  upon  my  face  : 
I  am  a  villain,  am  I  not  ? — nay,  speak  ! 

Dec.    You  are  found  a  murderer. 

Gis.    A  coward  murderer  : 
A  secret,  suddeu  stabber.    'Tis  not  possible 
That  you  can  find  a  blacker,  fouler  character, 
Than  this  of  mine  ? 

Dee.    The  Gods  must  judge  your  guilt ; 
But  it  is  such  as  man  should  shudder  at. 

Gis.    This  is  a  wise  world,  too,  friend,  is  it  not  ? 
Men  have  eyes,  ears,  and  ( sometimes)  judgment. 
Have  they  not  ? 

Dec.    They  are  not  all  fools. 

Gis.    Ha  !  ha  !  [Turns  up,  l.,  but  stops  short. 

Dec.    You  laugh ! 

Gis.    (  Walks  on  to  scaffold.)  A  thought 
Not  worth  your  notice,  sir.    You  have  tuose  scrolls 
I  bade  you  give  the  Proetor  ?    Was't  not  you  ? 

Dec.    I  think  they  are  now  within  the  Praetor's  hand3 
His  page  it  was  to  whom  ye  gave  them. 

Gis.    Ha ! 
Lead  me  on  quickly,  then.    Did  I  not  say 
He  should  not  see  them  till  my  death  was  past  ? 
Not  while  a  quivering  pulse  beat  in  my  frame, 
That  could  awake  one  hope  of  restoration  ? 
What  !  shall  he  say  I  quailed  and  sought  his  mercy? 
A  wa  vering  suicide  ? — and  drag  me  back 
To  life  and  shame  ?    Fool  I    Idiot !    But  haste  on, 
I  will  not  be  prevented.  [Going  to  platform. 

Fulvius.    (  Within,  r.J  Give  way  I 
Way  !  way  !— hold  !  hold  ! 

Gis.    Shall  I  be  cheated  ?  [Goes  on  platform. 

Your  duty,  officers  ? 

Dec.    Peace  !  'tis  the  Prcator. 

Gis.    Let  me  not  be  disturbed  in  my  last  moments — 
The  law  of  Rome  is  merciful  in  that. 

[Fulvius  rushes  in,  ft.,  'and  remains  on  one  side  of  the 
stage,  greatly  agitated,  his  toga  elevated  in  one  hand  so 
as  to  shut  out  all  the  cUlp.j  diaracters  from  his  view.. 
Fulv.    ( c.)  I  dare  not  look  1    All  silent  1    This  is  terri- 
ble i 


6S 


GISIPPUS. 


Act  Y. 


I  dare  not  ask  !    The  hue  of  death  is  round  me. 
In  mercy,  speak  !    Is't  over  ?    Am  I  late  ? 

Gis.    ( Advancing;  c.)  I  would  ye  were. 

Fulv.    (  Clasping  his  hands.)  I  thank  ye,  Gods,  my  soul 
Is  bloodless  yet !    I  am  no  murderer  ! 
Friend  I    Gisippus  ! 

Gis.    Oh,  no,  you  are  in  error,  sir 

Fulv.    By  all  the  Gods —  [Approaching  him. 

Gis.    Hold  back  !  or  I  will  spurn  ye  ! 
By  all  the  Gods,  proud  Roman,  it  is  false  ! 
I'll  not  be  mocked  again. 

Fulv.    Is  this  a  mockery  ? 
Look,  Romans,  on  this  man — Oh,  Gisippus? 
Look  on  him — Oh,  that  pale,  that  wasted  face  !  [Kneels. 
To  him  I  owe  all  that  you  know  me  master  of  I 
Life,  public  honor,  and  domestic  happiness  ! 
Here  in  this  thronged  area  Fulvius  kneels 
Before  his  benefactor — in  that  attitude 
Prouder  than  when  he  took  his  place  among 
The  judges  of  your  capitol. 

Gis.    A  Pra3tor 
Kneels  at  my  feet  ! — Look  !  look  upon  him,  Romans  ! 
"  Hear  this,  ye  purpled  ones,  and  hide  your  heads  I" 
Behold,  how  mean  the  gilded  ingrate  shows 
Beside  the  honest  poverty  he  scorned — 
Start  from  the  earth,  man,  and  be  more  yourself, 
Arch  the  sharp  brow,  curl  the  hard  lip,  and  look 
The  heartless  thing  ye  are  !    Court  not  opinion, 
By  this  mean  mockery. 

Dec.    ( Advancing  to  Fulv.)  Rise,  my  lord  ! 

[Fukius  rices  dejectedly,  and  motions  with  his  hand — all 
hut  Gis.  and  Ful,  turn  their  backs  to  audience,  up 
Stage. 

Fulv.    ( r.  c.)  Gisippus, 
Are  you  content  yet  ?    I  have  knelt  to  you  ; 
Not  in  the  meanness  of  a  crouching  spirit, 
But  dragged  down  by  the  deadening  self-reproach 
That  wintered  it  within  my  soul.    But  now 
I've  borne  an  insult  in  the  sight  of  Rome, 
Which  is  unto  the  honorable  mind, 
What  death  is  to  the  coward.    Now  I  stand 
Erect,  and  challenge  ye  to  name  the  sin 
Which  this  endurance  may  not  satisfy. 


Scene  II. J 


GISIPPUS. 


69 


Gis.    ( Pausing  in  surprise.)    You  speak  this  well — sir — 
faitb,  'tis  very  well, 
Certain,  I  am  wrong.    You  have  done  naught  you  have 

done  ; 

Nor  is  this  air  I  breathe — air — no1*  this  soil 
Firm  earth  on  which  we  stand.    Nor  is  rny  heart 
A  throbbing  fire  within  me  now — no — no, 
Nor  this  hot  head  an  JStna — Ha  !    Farewell ! 
Nothing  of  this  is  so.    I  am  very  wrong.       [Going  out,  R. 
Fulv.    Yet  hold— 

Gis.    ( Bursting  into  fury.)    What,  haughty  ingrate  ! 
Feel  I  not 
The  fasces  of  your  satellites  yet  on  me  ? 
Hold  back  !  cross — touch  me,  stay  me,  speak  again, 
And  by  the  eternal  light  that  saw  my  shame, 
I'll  gripe  that  lying  throat  until  I  choke 
The  blackening  perjury  within  !    Oh,  sin  1 
Oh,  shame  !  oh,  world  !    I'm  now  a  weak,  poor  wretch — 
Smote  down  to  very  manhood.    "Judgment  lost, 
"  I've  flung  the  reins  loose  to  my  human  spirit, 
"  And  that's  a  wild  one  !    Rouse  it,  and  ye  pluck 
"  The  beard  of  the  lion.    Gisippus,  that  was 
"  The  lord  of  his  most  fiery  impulses, 
"  Is  now  a  child  to  trial."    High  philosophy, 
With  its  fine  influences,  has  fled  his  nature  ; 
And  all  the  mastery  of  mind  is  lost. 

Fulv.    Yet,  would  you  hear — 

Gis.    Could  I  chain  up  my  heart, 
That  bounds  unbridled  now — and  force  my  sense 
To  drink  your  words,  it  were  in  vain. 
My  heart  has  grown  incapable  of  all  gentleness, 
And  hard  to  every  natural  affection  : 
Ye  may  as  well  go  talk  the  warm,  red  blood 
Out  of  that  column.    Begone — ye  vex  me  ! 

"  [Going  out,  r. 

"  Fulv.    You  shall  not  go  !    Curse  me, — but  speak  not 
"  thus  ! 

"  Will  nothing 
**  Move  ye  to  hear  me  ? 

Gis.    "  Nothing.    Could  you  conjure 
"  The  memory  of  my  wrongs  away,  and  leave  me 
"  No  other  cause  for  being  what  I  am, 


70  gilippus.  [Act  Y. 

"  Than  that  I  am  so,  nothing  yet  could  change  me. 
"  Psha  Y>    Death  !    Why  do  I  dally  thus  ?— Away  ! 
See  inc  no  more  ! 

Away!    Farewell!    No  more?    [Turning  and  bursting 
away,  he  looks  off  the  Stage,  r.,  starts,  and  remains 

motionless. 

Fulv.    Ha  !  Soplironia  comes  !    It  stirs  him. 

Gis.    My  dreams  have  been  of  this  !    My  sleep  has  been 
Fear  haunted,  till  this  vision  came  to  quiet  it, 
And  then  my  soul  knew  peace  !    Oh,  ye  have  been 
My  memory's  nightly  visitant. 

Fulv.    (Elevating  his  hand  to  Soplironia  within.) 
"Hush  !  softly  !" 

"  Gis"    Beautiful  phantom  of  my  faded  hope  1 
How  many  thousand,  thousand  sceues  of  joy, 
Not  rudely  dragged  from  rest, 
But  quietly  awakened  into  tight 
By  the  soft  magic  of  that  wizard  glance. 
Rise  on  my  soul,  as  from  the  dead  ! 

Fulv.    (r.J    Soplironia  ! 

Enter  Sopiironia,  r. 

Soph.    I  am  here  to  seek  ye.    They  have  told  me,  Ful- 
vius — 

Hal  Grisippus  !  [Readying  him  her  hand. 

Gis.    Hush  !  peace,  sweet  woman  !  All 
Is  softening  o'er  my  wounded  heart  again. 
Soplironia,  I  am  glad  you  do  not  scorn  me  ; 
There  is  a  reconciling  influence 
About  ye,  in  your  eyes,  air,  speech,  a  stilling  spell, 
The  wronged  heart  cannot  strive  against. 

Fulv.  Grisippus, 
Would  you  prove  that  ? 

Gis.    (With  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  Sophronia.)    'Tis  not 
impossible,  Fulvius. 

Soph.    ( Drawing  him  to  Fulvius.)    Then  for  my  sake, 
Grisippus — hear  Fulvius. 

Gis.    All  for  thee  I* 

Fulv.    Not  for  pardon,  but  for  truth 
And  justice's  sake,  I  urge  thy  hearing  now  : 


*  According  to  the  original  text,  the  piece  terminates  here  ;  but  as  the 
play  is  usually  acted  in  this  country,  the  lines  following  are  introduced. 


SCEN'E  II.] 


GISIPPUS. 


71 


For  innocence  investigating  seeks, 

As  broad  and  searching  as  the  winds  of  Heaven  ; 

While  conscious  guilt  its  safety  finds  in  dark 

Concealment  and  in  flight. — Now  hear  and  judge  : 

Commanded  by  the  Emperor  to  join 

The  army  instantly,  I  quitted  you 

And  Athens  ! — Chremes  (hapless  youth  I)  a  scroll 

Did  bear,  informing  you  of  this  intent, 

And  praying  you  to  follow  straight,  and  share 

My  fortune  and  my  love. 

Gis.    That  scroll — that  scroll  ! 
I  well  remember  now  I  did  receive, 
But  ne'er  perused  ;  for,  blind  with  rage  and  grief, 
And  wounded  pride,  I  tore — Oh,  fatal  haste  ! 
Thy  friendship's  proof,  and  scattered  to  the  winds 
The  love  I  sought. 

Fulu.    To  others  oft  I  wrote, 
But  ne'er  received  reply  ;  unknowing,  then, 
Your  hapless  fate,  I  deemed  you  had  forgot 
Your  friend,  and  ceased  to  write  you  more. 

Gis.    Alas ! 

Fulv.    My  country's  wars  on  foreign  shores  have  claimed 
My  sword  and  presence  ever  since  !    But  now 
Returned, — within  this  very  hour,  the  dreadful  tale 
So  long  concealed  from  me — 

Soph.    Was  told  ! — and  now — Gisippas — 

Gis.    Sophronia  ! — 

Soph.    You  hear  ? — and  you  forgive  ? — . 

Gis.    All !  all !  for  thee  ! 

[Gisippus  joins  the  hands  of  Fulvius  and  Sophronia, 
who  kneel — Gisippus  raises  his  hands  above  their  heads 
as  in  the  act  of  blessing  them,  and  the  Curtain  falls 
to  slow  music  of  Hymn  as  played  in  first  and  second 
Acts. 

DISPOSITION  OF  THE  CHARACTERS  AT  THE  FALL  OF  THE 
CURTAIN. 

Gisippus. 
Sophronia.  Fulvius. 

R.]  LI- 
THE END. 


FKENC  H'S 


AMERICAN  DRAMA; 


CONSISTING  Or  X  COLLECTION  OF 


TRAGEDIES,  DRAMAS,  COMEDIES,  FARCES 

ETC.  ETC. 


TO  \raiCH  AKE  ADDED, 

A  Description  of  tne  Costume— Cast  of  the  Characters— Entrances  and  Exits- 
Relative  Positions  of  the  Performers  on  the  Stage,  and  the  -whole  of  the 

Stage  Business. 


VOL.  I.  CONTAINS: 

1.  Midsummer  Night's  5.  Theresa  ;  on,  The  Oa 
Dream.  phan  of  Geneva. 

2.  Popping  the  Question.  6  Flying  Dutchman. 

3.  La  Tour  de  Nesle.  7.  New  Footman. 

4.  Deaf  as  a  Post.  8.  Pleasant  Neighbor* 

WITH  PORTRAIT  AND  MEMOIR  OF  EDWIN  FORREST. 


NEW-YORK : 
SAMUEL  FRENCH, 

121  NASSAU-STREET. 


No.  LXXXIX. 
FRENCH'S  STANDARD  DRAMA. 


I  I  GO  Ml  R, 

THE  BARBARIAN: 

IN     FIVE  ACTS. 
Ttantiattd  from  the  German,  and  adapted  /j  the  English  .Slfcs<f^ 

]jy    M  ASIA  LOWELL. 


NEW-YORK  : 
SAMUEL  FRENCH, 

181  NASSAU-STREET. 
PMC*  U|  CENTS. 


CAST  OF 


•ns  of J 
mlia,  "S 


The  Timarch  of  Mastilia 
Poiydory  a  Merchtnl,  "j 
Myrim.  an  Armorer,  i 

Ncucles, 

Amytta*,  f  Ma* 

h'phenor,  j 
Ly'cm,  a  Fi»herman,  J  \ 
fruco-mur \leader  of  a  band  of  Alemanni 
Atastor,  }  [ 

Trinobantes,  [ 
A  inbitar^         >  Alemanni 

Samo,  J 

Arlta,  Myron  a  Wife  - 
Part/icn'ti,  her  uniighter 
T Kruno  a  XeigKltor 
Fk&fwinan't  fy'ife 


CHARACTERS. 

Drury  Lane. 

Mr.  Neville, 
Mr.  J.  W.  Kay, 
Mr  Cooper, 
Mr.  Abbott, 
Mr.  S.  Jones, 
Mr.  G.  Watson, 

Mr  Anderson, 
Mr.  C.  Clarke, 
Mr.  Ennis, 
Mr.  II.  Mellon 
Mr.  Beckett, 
Mr.  Manlej, 

Mrs.  YVeeton. 
Miss  Vandooboff, 
Mrs.  Barrett, 


Bo  u  try,  N.  y 

Mr  Glenn. 
Mr.  Critmbo. 
Mr.  Stevens. 
Mr.  Collins. 
Mr.  Browne, 
Mr  Gonldson. 
Mr.  Bowes, 
Mr.  Eddy. 

Mr.  Hamilton. 
Mr  Reed. 
Mr.  LeffingwelL 
Mr  Moore. 
Mr.  0.  Browne. 
Mr.  I. owe. 
Mrs.  Jordan. 
Mrs.  A  Parker. 
Mrs  Vemnana. 
Mrs.  Necdham. 


Citizens,  Alemanni,  Guards,  Flsliermen. 


COSTUMES. 

THE  TIM  ABC  il  OF  MASSILIA.-A  long  blue  shirt,  trimmed  with 
brown ;  puce  toga,  trimmed  with  scarlet ;  fleshings  and  sandah  ; 
Phrygian  cap. 

POLYDOR.— Long  rnsset-colorcd  shirt,  scarlet  and  brown  border; 
gray  toga,  trimmed  with  black  and  scarlet;  fleshings  and  sandals. 

MYRON. — Grey  shirt  with  black  border ;  fleshings  and  sandals. 

NEO^LES.—  Blue  shirt,  black  Grecian  border ;  fleshings  and  sandals. 

AMI  :>TAS. — Gray  shirt,  black  Grecian  bonier;  fleshings  and  sandals. 

ELPHENOR. — Brown  shirt,  black  Grecian  border-  fleshings  and 
sandals. 

LYKON. — Brown  and  amber  striped  shirt ;  fleshings  and  sandals. 

INGOMAR. — Leather  breast-plate,  with  copper  bosses;  brown  loose 
shirt;  wolf's  skin,  hung  to  back;  helmet;  shield;  spear;  fleshings 


Second  dress :  Plain  marone  shirt. 
1 

Similar  dresses  to  those  of  Ingomar,  of  various 
colors. 


and  sandals. 

ALASTOR, 
TRINOBANTES, 
AM  IUVAR, 
NOVIO, 
BAMO, 

PARTIIENIA. — "White  Merino  dress,  with  Grecian  trimming;  aml«r 

Grecian  drapery  and  trimming.    Second  dress :  "White  drapery. 
ACTEA. — Brown  dress  and  drapery. 
THEANO. — Gray  dress  and  boddice;  plain  head-dress. 
HERALD.— Amber  shirt   breast-plate  •  and  scarlet  robo. 


INGOMAR 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — Massilia,the  Market-place^in  front  of  an  Archway 
which  crosses  the  back  of  the  stage. — In  the  foreground,  on 
the  right,  Myron's  and  another  house ;  a  spinning -wlied 
and  basket  in  front  of  Myron's  house. —  Opposite  to  it  the 
house  of  Polydor. 

Enter  AcTEA,fro?n  the  House,  jl 

Act.  The  sun  is  nearly  set — the  city  gates 
Will  quickly  close,  yet  Myron  comes  not  home : 
Parthenia,  too — wild  girl !  freed  from  her  task, 
Flies  like  a  bird  unfettered  from  her  cage. 
Parthenia  !  daughter  !  child  ! 

Enter  Parthenia,  r.  u.  e. 

Well,  mother  dear ! 

Act.  Ah  !  truant,  see,  here  lies  thy  work  undone, 
And  evening  near. 

Par.  I've  spun  enough  to-day  ; 
And  yonder  are  our  neighbors  gathering  olives— 
I'll  help  them.  [Going, 

Act.  No  !  thou  shalt  remain  with  me  ; 
And  listen,  wild  one  ; — thou  hast  long  enough 
Wasted  the  hours  in  trifling  children's  play, — 
>Tis  time  to  end  it ; — so  now  sit  thee  down, 
And,  if  thou  canst,  be  serious  for  once. 

Par.  Yes,  mother  dear — I  hear. 

[She  seats  herself  listlessly  at  the  wheel. 

Act.  Bethink  thee,  child, 


6 


INGOMAR. 


This  Polydor  is  rich — a  man  in  years, 
'Tis  true,  but  rich— a  widower,  indeed, 
But  much  respected,  and  of  quality; 
He  asks  thy  hand — dost  listen? 

Par.  {Starting.')    Yes,  oh  yes. 

Act.  Ah,  so  thou  always  say'st ;  yet  I  may  speak. 
Talk  by  the  hour,  while  all  thy  busy  thoughts 
Wander  thro'  fields  and  woods,  as  thou  thyself, 
Chasing  the  butterflies ;  but  now  't/.s  time, 
Though  with  spring  blood,  to  think  of  coming  autumn,— 
'Tis  time  to  think  of  marriage  ;  yet  already 
Thou  hast  rejected  Medon. 

Par.  (Coming  fo?  ward.)    Oh!  he  was  old, 
Grey-headed,  gouty,  coarse — 

Act.  Evander  then. 

Par.  Evander  !    Yes,  he  had  a  fox's  cunning, 
With  a  hyaena's  heart,  and  monkey's  form. 

Act.    Mad.  foolish  girl !  go,  trample  down  thy  fortune, 
Until  repentance  comes  too  late  !    Thou  think'st 
Thyself  unequalled,  doubtless  ;  lovely,  rich. 

Par.  Young  am  I,  mother  ;  joyous,  happy,  too. 

[Embracing  Iter, 
And  you,  you  love  me !  what  can  I  wish  more  ? 
Yes,  you  do  love  me  ! 

Act.  Love  thee — ah  !  and  well 
Dost  thou  deserve  our  love  ! 
Why  do  1  fold  thee  thus  within  my  arms  ? 
We  love  thee,  but  thou  lovest  us  not. 

Par.  Not  love  thee,  mother  ? 

Act.  No  !  or  as  our  will 
So  would  thine  own  be — thou  wouldst  let  us  choose 
Thy  husband. 

Par.  No,  dear  mother,  no — not  him. 

Act.  What  dost  thou  hope  for,  then  ?  Perhaps  thou  think'st 
The  man  in  the  moon  would  be  thy  fitting  spouse : 
What  waitest  thou  for,  I  say  ? 

Par.  I'll  tell  thee,  mother. — I  was  but  a  child, 
And  yet  . I  marked  it  well ;  you  sang  to  me 
Of  Hero  and  Leander,  and  their  love  ; 
And  when  I  asked  thee,  wond'ring,  what  love  was, 
Then,  with  uplifted  hands  and  laughing  eye3, 


INGOMAR. 


7 


Thou  told'st  me  how,  into  the  lonely  aeart 

Love  sudden  comes  unsought,  then  grows  and  grows, 

Feeble  at  first,  like  dawn  before  the  sun, 

Till,  bursting  every  bond,  it  breaks  at  last 

Upon  the  startled  soul  with  hope  and  joy, 

While  every  bounding  pulse  cries  '  that  is  he 

Who  carries  in  his  breast  my  heart,  my  soul : 

With  him,  oh  may  I  live,  and  with  him  die  !' 

So,  when  old  Medon  and  Evander  came 

To  woo,  I  laid  my  hand  upon  my  heart, 

And  listened,  listened,  but  no  !  all  was  still, 

All  silent ;  no  response,  no  voice  ;  and  so 

I'm  waiting,  mother,  till  my  heart  shall  speak  ! 

Act.  [Aside.]    Good  gods  !  'tis  thus  we  let  our  old 
Tongues  prattle. 

While  young  ears  listen.    [Aloud.]    So,  thou  foolish  child* 
'Tis  that  thou  waitest  for — thy  heart  must  speak ! 
I  prattled  nonsense,  a  child's  tale,  a  dream  ! 
I  tell  thee,  there's  no  second  will  come  to  thee 
Like  Polydor,  so  rich,  so  honorable. 

Par.  Honorable  ! 
Beats  down  my  needy  father  in  his  wares, 
Higgles  and  bargains 

Act.  That  thou  understandest  not. 
He  is  a  careful  and  a  saving  merchant : 
Think,  think,  my  child — say  yes — for  my  sake,  do ; 
Say  yes,  my  child. 

Par,  Hold,  mother — I  will  wander  never  more 
Through  woods  and  fields  ;  like  other  girls,  will  spin,- 
Will  work,  will  read  thy  wishes  in  thine  eyes  ; 
But  him,  that  Polydor,  I  cannot,  will  not — 
Koj  never — never  ! 

Act.  Never? 

Par.  Thou  art  angry  ! 

Act.  Away  !  have  I  not  cause  enough  for  anger  % 
Thy  parents  now  grow  old,  and  long  for  rest ; 
Thy  father,  a  poor  armorer,  in  the  fields, 
Labors  and  toils  all  day  ; 
Then  must  he  hammer  at  the  forge  by  night ; 
And  when  the  tillage  rests,  that  cannot  be, 
But  sets  out,  heavily  laden,  as  now,  with  arms, 


8 


INGOMAR. 


To  offer  them  for  sale  in  neighboring  villages. 

Par.  Poor  father  ! 

Act.  Poor,  poor,  indeed  !  Then  I  remain  at  home, 
'Tis  true — yet  go  I  forth  in  thought,  and  carry 
With  him  the  burden  of  the  goods  :  with  him  I  pant 
Up  the  rough  mountain's  slippery  path,  and  feel 
The  pelting  storms  which  soak  his  weary  limbs, 
And  think,  that  even  now,  in  the  dark  valley 
The  wild  Allobrogi  or  fierce  Allcmanni 
Attack  him,  rob  him,  murder  him.  perhaps  ! 

Par.  Oh,  mother,  mother  ! 

Act.  So  must  J  weep,  and  weep.    But  thou — 
Thou  whom  he  loves,  for  whom  he  e'en  would  die — 
For  whom  he  risks  his  blood,  his  limbs,  his  life — 
Thou,  thou  might'st  spare  him  from  all  weariness, 
Mignt'st  dry  my  tears,  make  happy  our  old  age, 
Be  so  thyself.    But  no  !  thou  canst,  yet  wilt  not. 
Go,  go.  thou  selfish  and  ungrateful  child. 

[Exit  into  r-.cnise,  it. 

Par.  [After  a  pause.]    Ungrateful!  no,  ye  gods,  that  am 
I  not. 

Ungrateful  to  my  father  ! — No  !  and  yet 

For  me  does  the  rough  storm  beat  on  his  head  ; 

For  me  he  staggers  'neath  his  heavy  loads, 

And  totters,  panting  up  the  mountain  sides. 

Yes,  yes, — I'll  show  my  mother  she  is  wrong  ; 

It  shall  not  be.    But  yet,  what  would  I  do  ? 

Unite  myself  to  age,  to  avarice  1 

That  is  to  die  !  to  die — 'twere  better  far  ! 

But  yet  it  must  be  so — farewell,  sweet  dreams  !  [Pauses. 

And  once  the  future  lay  so  bright  before  me  : 

There  shone  the  scarce-formed  hope,  the  mystic  joy  

[Suddenly. 

Let  all  be  fancy — love  be  but  a  dream  ; — 

All  is  a  fable  that  adorns  our  life, 

And  but  the  passing  day  alone  is  real ! 

Well,  be  it  so.    Parthenia  wakes  to  duty  ! 

And  now,  sweet  visions  of  my  youth,  farewell. 

My  father  now,  shall  labor  hard  no  more — 

Shall  rest.    Ah  !  who  comes  here  ?  'tis  Polydor  ! 

I'll  fly — yet  no  !  I  will  remain  :  if  my  happiuess  , 


INGOMAR. 


9 


Must  be  put  up  for  sale,  then  let  the  price 
He  well  secured  for  which  I  barter  it. 
What  looks  he  ?  pride,  ill-temper,  avarice — 
And  I  his  wife  !    It  makes  my  heart  grow  cold. 

[S/ie  appioacltes  Iw  spinning-wheel,  at  which  siie  sits 

to  work. 

Enter  Polydor.  l. 

Pol.  [Soliloquising.]  This  will  not  do,  the  slave  impovoi* 

ishes  me ; 

There  is  no  doing  without  a  wife — it  must  be. 

Par.  [Aside.]  Does  he  not  look  as  tho1  he  had  the  weiffht 
Of  the  world  upon  his  thoughts  %  and  yet,  I  wager 
He  only  thinks  on  pigs  and  geese. 

Pol.  Nothing  replaces  Kallinike  to  me  : 
She  was  a  true  heart — she  could  work,  could  save  ! 
But  then  the  armorer's  daughter — could  she? 
Ah,  she  is  there  herself !  she's  young,  she's  pretty, 
So — yes — no — well,  so  be  it. 

[Approaching  and  addressing  Parthenia. 
Good  day,  fair  maid.    Good  day  I 

Par,  Say,  rather,  evening,  when  the  sun  is  sinking. 

Pol.  Can  it  be  evening  while  thy  bright  eyes  shine  ? 

Par.  Away,  sir,  with  Sue  words — we  will  speak  plainly. 
They  tell  me  you  propose  to  marry  me. 

Pol.  Ah  !  that  is  plain — that's  coming  to  the  point ; 
Alas  !  her  fond  impatience  cannot  wait. 
Yes,  yes,  such  is  my  thought. 

Par.  My  mother  told  me  so, — and  yet  I  wonder 
Thy  choice  should  fall  on  me ;  how  soon,  it  seems, 
You  have  forgotten  Killinike  ! 

Pol.  Forgotten?    No,  indeed;  a  man  like  me 
Forgets  not  gold,  nor  goods,  nor  the  worth  of  goods  ; 
And  that  was  she  to  me  ;  yet  weighty  reasons 
Press  on  me  a  new  choice,  my  children — 

Par.  Ay.  poor  orphans  ! 

Pol.  Poor  they  are  not :  they  are  troublesome, 
Gluttonous  pigs,  wild,  rude,  unruly  boys. 
Shall  I,  at  great  expense,  hire  a  schoolmaster 
From  Samos  or  Miletus  ?  Gentleness 
Best  rules  rough  strength,  and  thou  indeed  art  gentle. 
• 


10 


INGOMAR. 


Par.  Gentle  !  oh  yes,  as  gentle  as  a  lamb 
Led  to  the  sacrifice. 

Pol  Besides,  lam  often  far  from  home — my -business 
Now  calls  me  to  the  market,  now  to  the  harbor ; 
And  shall  a  slave  meanwhile  keep  house  for  me, 
And  farm,  and  warehouse  ?  guard  my  well-filled  coffers  % 
That  only  can  a  wife,  only  a  true  wife. 
And  then,  too,  I  grow  old,  am  often  sick ; 
And  who  would  tend  me  then  ?  make  ready  for  me 
The  warm  room,  and  prepare  my  drink  and  physic  1 
Ah  !  only  a  fond  wife. 

Par.  Oh,  my  poor  heart  ! 

Pol.  'Tis  thou  shalt  be  that  wife,  and  thou  shalt  make  jm 
Strong,  young  again  ;  thy  love,  my  pretty  rosebud  

Par,  Away — and  listen  now  to  me  : 
Thou  know'st  my  father  tills  the  fields  by  day, 
And  at  the  anvil  works  by  night,  and  then 
Upon  his  shoulders  carries  to  a  distance 
His  wares  for  sale;  that  he  is  now  in  years, 
And  wants  repose  : — say  then,  when  I  am  thine — 
Say,  wilt  thou  think  of  my  poor  father  % 

Pol.  Ay.  certainly  I  will — how  could  I  otherwise? 
Yes,  yes,  I  will — I  will  think  of  thy  father. 

Par.  And  do;  what  wilt  thou  do  for  him? 

Pol   Oh,  he  shall  be  advanced,  for  he  will  bo 
My  father-in-law,  the  father-in-law  of  Polydor, 
Of  the  rich  Polydor  ;  and  from  the  gods 
My  lineage  springs  : 

Think  what  an  honor  ;  from  the  gods,  my  child. 

Par.  But  honor  gives  not  food — what  wilt  thou  do? 

Pol.  Well,  in  the  first  place,  buy,  as  hitherto, 
His  wares  at  a  good  price. 

Par.  At  a  good  price  ! — That  is,  good  for  thyself 
Well,  and  what  more  % 

Pol,  What  more  !    Why,  then  again,  then  will  I-*- 
Observe  me  now,  and  bear  in  mind,  girl — know 
t  will  take  thee  without  dowry — yes,  entirely 
Without  a  dowry  ;  true  as  thou'rt  alive, 
['11  take  thee  -ay,  without  a  drachma ! 

Par.  But  what  do  for  my  father? 

Pol.  Is  not  that 


INGOMAR. 


To  do  ?  and  plenty  too,  I  think. 
Par.  No  more  ? 

Pol.  No  mor^  !  almost  too  much. 

Par.  By  all  the  gods,  yes,  it  is  quite  too  much  ; 
And  so.  good  evening.  I  Gcing. 

Pol  No,  sta}^ — thou  shalt  not  go  without  an  answer. 

Par.    An  answer  thou  shalt  have,  and  mark  it  well-«« 
Procure  your  children,  sir,  a  schoolmaster 
At  any  price,  and  whence  you  please ;  a  slave 
To  guard  your  house,  attend  to  bolts  and  bars ; 
Shouldst  thou  fall  sick,  there,  at  the  corner  yonder, 
Go,  bid  the  huckster  sell  thee  wholesome  herbs ; 
Mix  for  thyself  thy  medicine  and  thy  drink. 
But  know,  for  me  there  grows  no  bitterer  herb 
On  earth  than  sight  of  thee  !    Now,  mark  it  well— - 
This  is  my  answer — thou  poor,  heartless  miser. 
So  fare  thee  well,  descendant  of  the  gods ! 

[Exit  into  house. 
Pol  [Standing  looking  after  lier  for  a  time .]  What's 
that?  did  I  hear  right?  she  turns  me  out? 
Me,  the  rich  Polydor  !    The  armorer's  child 
Scorns  me,  the  rich  descendant  of  the  gods, 
As  though  I  were  her  father's  fellow-workman ; 
Disdains  me  !  mocks  me  !    There's  no  bitterer  herb 
On  earth  than  sight  of  me  !    Yes,  and  it  shall 
Be  bitter  to  thee,  and  to  others  too. 
I'll  have  revenge  !  What  shall  I  do  ?    I'll  take 
No  more  swords  of  him,  I'll  buy  up  the  rights 
Of  all  his  creditors,  summon  him  to  justice  \ 
I  will ;  I'll  drive  him  from  his  house  and  home, 
Ay,  from  the  city — him  and  his  saucy  child. 
That  will  I !    Yes  ;  I'll  force  out  his  last  drachma. 
Oh,  I  will  not  rest  until  I've  had  revenge  ! 

[  While  violently  agitated  lie  ivalks  up  and  down. 

Enter  Lykon,  l. 

Ly  £  The  road  straight  on,  he  said.  Ay,  here's  the  market ; 
Neai  here  must  be  the  house.    I'll  take  my  chance. 

[He  goes  to  the  next  house  to  Myron's,  and  knocks. 
Hillo!  come  forth,  open — I  bring  bad  news  : 
Shut  as  you  will  your  ears,  misfortune  knocks 


12 


INGOMAR. 


So  loud  that  you  must  hear  it  in  the  end. 

Pol  [Apart]    Ah!  what  does  the  man  want? 
Thcano.  [Opening  the  door.]    Who  calls  so"  loud? 
Ly/c.  Come  out  and  you  will  hear. 

Enter  Theano,/?-^  the  doorway,  r. 

The,  What  do  you  want,  man  ?  speak  ! 

Lyk.  You  are  Myron's  wife. 

The.  The  armorer's  ?  II  no.  my  husband's  dead  ! 

Lyk.  Then,  thank  the  gods — better  death  than  slavery 

The.  Ah  !  who  ?  what  ?    Myron,  dost  thou  say  1 

Ly/c.  Is  taken  prisoner,  seized  by  the  Alemanni. 

Pol.  [Aside]  Taken  prisoner!  seized!    Ah!  that's  good 

news,  indeed. 
The.  Myron,  a  prisoner  ? 
Ly/c.  Yes  ,  I  beheld  it  with  these  eyes. 
The.  Ye  gods  !  Myron  ! 

Neocles,  Elphenor,  Amyntas,  and  Citizens 
through  archway. 

Here  come  nis  friends. 

Neo.  Ah  !  what  alarm  is  this  1 

The  Elphenor,  Adrastus,  here  !  This  man  brings  news  ; 
Myron  is  prisouer — seized  by  the  Alemanni. 

Neo.  How  !  speakest  thou  true  ? 

Elp.  How  did  it  happen  ?  tell  me. 

Ly/c.  It  was  beside  the  coast ;  I  was  preparing 
Within  the  woods  a  yard  to  fit  my  boat, 
When  came  a  man  along  heavily  laden  : 
1  stood  concealed  by  a  thick  bush,  and  saw  him 
Lay  himself  down  to  rest  upon  the  moss, 
When  suddenly  from  out  the  thicket  rings, 
Like  a  wolfs  howl,  the  shout  of  the  Alemanni. 

Pinter  Actea.  coming  doivn  the  steps  from  her  house,' 
without  observing  those  present. 

Act.  There  !  she  has  carelessly  left  the  spinning-wheel. 
[Seeing  her  neighbors,]    Ah  !  what  is  this  ! 

Ly/c.  With  that  they  rushed  upon  him, 
Seized  on  his  goods,  and,  with  rough  acts  and  words, 


INGOMAR. 


13 


Demanded  who  he  was  ;  and  when  he  said 

He  was  an  armorer  of  Masilia, 

They  shouted  with  delight.  '  he  must  with  them 

And  with  loud  cries  they  drove  him,  bound  along 

Act.  An  armorer  !  bound  !  and  driven  along?  Ah.  tell  mo 
Who  M  as  the  armorer !  speak  !  who  was  the  man  ? 

Lyk.  [After  a  pause;  to  the  others,  with  his  eyes  cast 
down.']    Say.  is  tu»t  Myron's  wife  ? 

Act.  Myron's  !  ye  gods. 
Then  Myron  was  it  ?  speak  !  why  stand  ye  dumb  ? 
No.  no,  it  was  not  Myron  !  tell  me — quick  ! 

Lyk.  [After a  pause]  He  is  taken  by  the  Alemanni. 

Act.  [S  tricks.]  Woe  is  me! 

Neo.  She  swoons ! 

Etp.  She  falls  to  the  ground  ! 

The.  [Supporting  her.]  Help  !  help  !  carry  her  in  ; 
I  will  console  her.  [They  carry  her  into  the  house. 

Amy.  Are  these  barbarians  from  the  mountains  ? 

Lyk.  Yes  ; 
The  Alemanni,  who  some  three  weeks  since, 
As  well  you  know,  regardless  of  the  treaty, 
Broke  from  their  native  fastness  in  the  mountains, 
Destroyed  the  land,  seized  upon  travelers, 
And  drove  the  cattle  from  the  fields ;  and  these 
Are  they  who  now  have  taken  wretched  Myron. 

Par,  [Rushing  from  the  house.]    Where  is  tha  man  who 
brings  this  fearful  news  ? 
Art  thou  he  ?  speak  !  my  father — is  it  true  ? 
Sawest  it  thyself? 

Lyk.  Scarcely  ten  paces  from  me 
Were  the  old  man  and  the  exulting  robbers. 

Par.  And  thou  escapest,  while  he — 

Lyk.  Within  the  thicket 
I  stood  alone  and  ventured  not  to  stir 
Until  the  band  moved  off ;  and  then  I  fled  ; 
But  the  old  man.  perceiving  me,  called  after— 
1  Hear  me  !  I  am  Myron  of  Massilia, 
The  armorer  ;  for  the  sake  of  all  the  gods. 
Go,  tell  them  there,  that  they  may  ransom  mo.' 
Then  one  of  the  wild  men  called,  '  If  they  will, 
They  must  pay  thirty  ounces  of  bright  silver: 


M 


INGOMAR. 


That  is  his  pi  ice.'    Amidst  their  shouts  I  fled. 

And  they  with  haste  bore  him  towards  the  Cevennes. 

Par.  And  he  a  prisoner  !    No — back,  foolish  tears  I 
Clear  be  mine  eyes,  and  thou,  my  soul,  be  steel  ! 
They  carried  him.  thou  say'st,  to  the  Cevennes  7 
And  they  demand  a  ransom  !    House  and  fields 
Are  mortgaged — what  is  to  be  done  'I    Yet  friends 
lie  main.    [Addressing  litem  severally.] 
Adrastus,  you  will  help  us  ?  You. 
Amyntas,  —you  grew  up  with  him  ;  think  how 
You  shared  with  him  the  games  of  childhood, 
The  cares  of  age  ;  you;ll  rescue  him — you  can. 
Oh  !  speak,  kind  friends;  say  yes — lend  us  the  ransom. 

Amy.  I  ?  thirty  ounces  ?  would  I  had  so  much 
for  my  own  children. 

Nco.  The  sea  carries  all  my  wealth, 
And  who  may  count  on  wind  and  waves  ? 

Pol.  Ah  ha  , 

Par.  [  To  A' drastics.]  Take  pity, that  the  gods  may  pity  yon; 
[To  Neodes.]  That  thy  ship  may  return  in  safety  back, 
The  yoke  of  bondage  and  the  weight  of  poverty 
Never  oppress  thy  children — rescue  him. 
01).  let  my  mother's  grief,  my  tears,  prevail ! 

Nco  I  cannot  help  you.  4 

Par.  Amyntas — you. 

Amy.  I  cannot. 

Par.  Oh  !  friendship,  what  a  fable  !  my  poor  father  ! 
Herald.  [  Without  ]    Room,  citizens,  for  the  Timarch  I 
Par.  Ah  !  the  Timarch  ? 
He  is  saved  !  Massilia  will  protect  her  children  ! 

Enter  Herald,  with  a  white  ivand,  preceding  the  Timarch,  l 
Her.  Room,  I  say.  for  the  Timarch. 

Par.  [Sinking  at  the  feet  of  the  Timarch.']  Rescue!  help. 

Tim  Speak,  maiden  :  wherefore  dost  thou  ask  our  help? 

Par   Save  him  !  Myron  the  armorer — my  father — 
[n  the  mountains — the  Alcmanni  drag  him  hither  ; 
Oh  !  rescue  him  from  slavery. 

Tim.  A  citizeu 
In  danger  !  what  wouldst  thou  have  us  do? 


INGOMAR. 


15 


Par.  Let  the  trumpets  sound — the  citizens  seize  their 

swords  ; 

And  let  Massilia'a  power  demand  her  son  ! 
Rescue  their  captive  prey  from  the  wild  robbers, 
And  give  him,  free  again  to  his  free  home. 

Ti?n.  That  cannot  be,  for  by  an  ancient  law, 
Made  in  the  time  Massilia,  then  scarce  founded, 
Was  struggling  for  its  unsecured  existence, 
In  battle  with  the.  inhabitants  of  the  coast, 
I*  was  decreed,  the  care  of  individuals 
Should  never  compromise  the  entire  state, 
But  that  each  man  must  look  to  his  own  safety. 
Massilia  but  protects  her  citizens 
So  far  as  reach  the  shadow  of  her  walls  : 
And  that  has  Myron  overstepped  ;  nor  can' we 
To  favor  him — 

Par.  To  favor  !    [Springing  tip.]    No — not  favor— 
'Tis  right !  Is  not  Massilia  firmly  now 
Established  1  reaches  not  her  powerful  arm 
Far.  far  beyond  the  shadow  of  her  walls  ? 
Her  free-born  son  is  wronged,  and  the  state  with  him. 
He  is  imprisoned  ;  Timarch,  set  him  free  ! 

Tim.  I  cannot ;  were  a  single  stone  displaced 
In  the  fabric  of  justice,  the  whole  house  would  fall 
At  once  :  see  to  it  yourself,  I  cannot  help  you. 

[He  iireparesto  depart. 

Par.  [Sinking  at  his  feet]    Have  pity. 

Tim  With  the  gods  alone  dwells  pity  ; 
On  earth  dwells  justice  :  and  for  private  right 
I  cannot  do  a  public  wrong.    Make  way  ! 

Her.  Room,  room,  I  say,  for  the  Timarch  ! 

[Exeunt  Timarch. preceded  by  Herald,  &o, 

Pai .  (Calling  after  tluem  )    Pity — mercy  ! 
Alas  !  no  ear  listens  to  my  complaint ; 
All  leave  me,  all  forsake  me  !  0  ye  gods  ! 

(She  conceals  her  face  in  both  hands,  kneeling. 

Pol  (Aside,  rubbing  Ids  hands  )    '  I  cannot  help  you.* 
Oh  !  I  could  hug  you,  you  gold  worshippers, 
For  what  you  said.    '  I  cannot  help  you — no.' 
Right !  all  are  gone — all  !    And  now  comes  my  turn,— 
She  shall  remember  it.    Ah  ha  ! 


16 


INGOMAR. 


1    .  {tffdsing  her  head  arul  looking  around.)    I  will,  ' 
must  find  help  ;  I  will  to  Polydor, 
Will  sacrifice  myself  to  save  my  father. 

Pol.  Well.  Polydor  is  not  far  off ;  what  wouldst  thou? 

Par.  Here  in  the  dust  behold  me  at  thy  feet. 

Pol.  Ah  !  see  now.  in  the  dust  and  at  my  feet 
Art  ill  that  thou  dost  seek  so  rank  a  weed  % 

Par.  Forget,  forgive. — restore  my  father  to  mc, 
I'll  be  thy  wife,  will  bind  myself  thy  slave. 

Pol.  Indeed! 

Par.  Will  faithfully  take  care  of  house,  of  home, 
And  goods  for  thee  :  will  comfort  thine  old  age, 
And  watch  over  thy  children. 

Pol,  See,  now  see  ! 
And  wilt  thou  do  all  this  1  all— really  all  1 

Par.  All  this,  and  more ;  pay  but  this  ransom  for  him. 
Restore  my  father. 

Pol.  Ah  !  and  thirty  ounces, 
I  think  you  ask  ?    No,  no.  that  is  too  much  : 
I  am  a  man  who  follow  good  advice, 
So  will  I  yours  ; — hire  tutors  for  my  children, 
Protect  my  house  with  bolts  and  bars,  and  then, 
If  I  am  ill,  will  buy  me  medicine, 
There,  at  the  corner,  from  the  huckster — so 
I  think  you  said.    The  advice  was  good,  and  now 
I'll  give  you  mine ;  rescue  thy  father 
Thyself;  go,  seek  him  yonder  in  the  mountains; 
Plead  with  thy  flippant  eloquence  to  move 
The  barbarians  there,  aud  try  if  any  one 
Of  them  will  value  it  at  thirty  ounces, 
And  pay  thy  father's  ransom.    Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
Thou  hast  spurned  Polydor.  see  if  they'll  outbid  him 
And  so,  good  bye.  my  thorny  rose,  good-bye  ! 
Now  I'm  revenged     Aha!  f Exit  l. 

Par.  (After  a  pause)    What  thought  is  this  that  over- 
comes despair, 
And  fills  my  swelling  heart  with  inspiration? 
Oh  !  fool,  that  only  came  to  goad  my  sorrow  ; 
It  is  the  gods  command  thee  thus  to  speak  ! 
Away,  away  !  the  night  comes  quickly  on. 
Parthenia,  up  !  thy  labor  now  begins — 
Away  !  Ah,  my  poor  mother, — Theano,  Theano  ! 


INGOMAR. 


IT 


Efiter  Theano,  from  house. 

My  mother  ?  speak. 

T/ie.  She  has  wept  herself  to  sleep 

Par.  The  gods  be  thanked  !    Theano,  I  bequeath 
My  mother  to  thy  care  ;  I  go  to  the  mountains. 

Tlie  Now  1  it  grows  dark. 

Par.  All  here  is  clear  and  bright.    Farewell ! 

T/ie.  What  meanest  thou?  not  alone? 

Par.  The  gods 
Are  with  me  ;  so,  farewell ! 

T/ie.  Parthenia.  hear  me. 

Par.  Away,  away  !  [RusJies  off  as  curtain  falls. 

END  OF  ACT  I. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — In  the  Cevennes.  A  wood,  dense/?/  arched  with 
trees — wfozre  the  bushes  are  less  thick  is  seen  a  mass  of  wild 
rock.  In  tJie  back- ground,  l.,  a  half  extinguished  fire,  sev- 
eral Alemanni,  clothed  in  skins,  sleeping  in  a  circle  round 
it ;  near  it,  sh  ields,  helmets,  spears,  cups,  and  pitchers,  scat- 
tered about — in  the  back  ground  some  tents  of  skin. 

Intluz  fore-ground,  it.,  lie  Ambivar,  Novio,  and  Trinobantes, 
about  a  mass  of  rock,  throwing  dice.  Ingomar  is  seen 
asleep  wider  a  tree,  against  tJie  trunk  of  which  lean  his 
sword  and.  shield. 

Amb.  One  throw  more,  the  stake  is  mine. 
Trin  Down — that's  what  I  call  luck. 
Nov.  Now  it  is  my  turn. 
Amb.  What  is  it  worth  ? 

Nov.  I  have  at  home  a  black  colt,  two  years  old, 
Fleet  as  the  winds  ;.  will  that  do  ? 

Amb..  Done  !  I  stake  two  fat  rams  against  him. 

f  While  they  are  gambling. 


IS 


INGOMAR. 


Enter  Ai.emanni,  l  ,  driving  on  Myron,  with  a  load  of  wt>*d 

on  his  shoulder. 

Alcm.  Now,  slave,  throw  down  thy  wood,  and  hew  it  fjr 
our  eveniug  tire  ;  here's  the  axe — be  quick.    [Exit  u 

Myr.  It  seems  like  a  dream  ;  Oh  !  wretched  Myron  ! 
Miserable  that  you  are  !    I — I  the  slave 
Of  these  barbarians  !    I,  but  yesterday 
Massilia's  citizen,  a  happy  husband, 
Fond  father,  and  free  man — and  now  to  day  

Nov.  Drink,  slave,  drink  ! 

Amb.  [Throwing.']    'Tis  done  ;  the  colt  is  mine. 
Trin  Ten  ! 

Nov.  Thunder  and  lightning! 

Myr.  [Aside.']    Alas  !  not  all  my  goods  would  be  enough 
To  ransom  me  from  slavery  !    And  I  am  old  : 
If  I  were  young,  I  would  take  courage  then, 
And  try  to  escape.    Oh !  is  there  no  hope  for  me  ! 

Nov.  [To  Myron,  shaking  Iris  fist.]    Slave,  didst  hear? 
mead,  mead  !    I'll  tear  thy  deaf  ears  from  thy  skull ; 
mead,  slave,  mead  ! 

Myr,  [Hastily  seizing  a 'pitcher.]    Here  is  mead  ! 

Amb  Now,  again.    What  is  it,  Trinobantes  ? 

Trin.  My  armlet  here. 

Amb.  My  belt  against  it ;  do  you  say  done  ? 
Trin.  Done ! 

Myr.  [Returns  with  pitchers]    Will  they  net  pay 
My  ransom  ?    Oh  !  ye  gods,  mock  not  my  trust, 
But  bring  me  home  again  ! 
And  let  me  die  in  my  dear  daughter's  arms? 

lag.  [Speaking  in  his  sleep.]    After  them  !  quick,  quick  I 
Slay  them  !  [  Waking  up. 

fee- — why  !  I  have  been  dreaming  ! — I  was  wounded — 
The  battle  was  decided — the  day  was  ours  ' 
Then,  how  they  fled  !  what  booty  we  obtained  ! 
How  many  prisoners  !  and  yet  it  was  a  dream  « 
Well — 1 11  to  sleep  again. 

Trin.  Lost !  now  I've  had  enough  for  to-day. 

Amb.  Once  more  ! 

Samo.  'Tis  dinner-time. 

Amh.  Well — come  on — 'twas  mine. 


INGOMAR 


19 


Nov.  [Liketvise  rising  J  No  mine,  I  say! 
Amb.  Thou  liest  ! 

Nov.  [Seizing  him  by  the  throat.]    Dog.  dost  thoa  play 

false? 

Amb.  [Swinging  his  axe  over  his  head.]  Dog !  dogs  bite  ! 
[He  is  about  to  strike  Novio  down,  but  the  blow  is  ar- 
rested by  the  latter  and  they  struggle  for  tiie  axe. 

Ing.  [Springing  up.]  What  now? 

Nov.  (Struggling.)    Murderous  villain  ! 

Ing.  {Separating  them.)    Leave  hold. 

Nov.  Who  daies  ? 

Ing.  I  !    Dare  you  dispute  me  ?    Your  leader  ? 
Peace,  I  command  you. 
Nov.  Away  ! 

Amb.  (Flourishing  his  axe.)    His  blood  or  thine  ! 

Ing.  (Seizing  it.)    Back,  back — I  say. 
But  one  step  more,  I'll  send  you  to  the  shades. 
[Driving them  away  J  Now,  go  at  once  ; 
Climb.  Novio,  yonder  rock  ;  look  for  Alastor 
Take  thine  axe,  and  hew  us  wood — begone  ! 

Amb.  (Muttering.)  Good — the  time  will  come  ! 

Ing.  You,  Ambivar,  prepare  our  supper:  Sanio. 
Bring  in  the  cattle.    Away,  all  of  you. 

[  They  go  off  at  different  sides. 
Defiance  to  me — their  chief — son  of  their  chief? 
Lightnings  of  heaven  1  ( To  Myron.)  Ah,  slave,  come  here 
bring  drink. 

[Myron  hands  him  a  goblet,  from  which  he  drinks. 
How  it  refreshes  me !  [Throws  himself  on  a  rock 

Now,  slave,  kill  time  for  me. 
Myr.  I? 

Ing.  What  is  your  name  ? 

Myr.  Mine?  Myron,  sir ! 

Ing.  (Mocking  him.)    Mine— Myron,  sir  ? 
Ha  !  ha !  so  chirps  the  linnet's  brood  in  the  nest ! 
And  then  he  looks  as  sour  as  though  he  had  swallowed 
A  sloe-bush  !  speak— who  art  thou? 

Myr.  Alas  !  alas  !  [  Weeps 

Ing.  By  all  the  gods,  what  dost  thou  whine  for  tliMS, 
Thou  silly  fool  1    "What  ails  thee?    Thou  hast  here 
Both  food  and  drink  in  plenty  ;  and  at  night 


20 


Thou  restest  on  soft  moss.    Once  s&  es?  heme. 
we'll  make  a  smithy  for  thee  ;  there  £h@a  shalt  work 
And  hammer  as  before,  and  live  as  mecTily  « 

ilTV/r.  Aud  callest  thou  the  loss  of  liberty  nothing  ? 

What  liberty  ?    Poor  fool,  you  m&ks  me  laugn* 
Liberty  !  and  dost  thou  miss  liberty  1 
That  thou  didst  not  possess,  man,  when  we  took  thee : 
Old  age  already  held  thee  in  its  yoke  ; 
Youth  only  is  strong,  and  strength  alone  is  free. 

Myr.  My  freedom's  lost ! 

Ing.  Fool !  what  knowest  thou  of  freedom? 
With  us  is  freedom.    She  lives  in  the  open  air; 
In  woods  she  dwells  ;  upon  the  rocks  she  breathes  ; 
Now  here,  now  there  ;  not  caring  for  to-day- 
No,  nor  providing  for  to  morrow  ! 
Freedom  is  hunting,  feeding,  fighting,  danger  : 
That,  that  is  freedom — that  it  is  which  makes 
The  veins  to  swell,  the  breast  to  heave  and  glow. 
Ay,  that  is  freedom, — that  is  pleasure — life  ! 
But  you,  in  your  dark  walls,  a  den,  a  prison, 
You  have  life  only  to  be  sad. 

Myr.  I  was  born  in  them,  sir  : — 
'Tis  there  dwell  harmony,  law,  and  order ; 
There  a  true  wife,  there,  a  dear  daughter  ;  all 
The  best  things  I  possess  on  earth  are  there. 
Oh,  my  poor  wife  !  my  daughter  ! 

Ing.  Old  fool !  What  1  tears  again,  tears  about  womezt  v 
Why,  thou  art  thyself  a  woman.    What  are  they? 
Vain,  foolish  playthings,  only  born  to  bear, 
And  serve  ;  to  eat  and  drink  ; 
To  squat  among  the  cattle,  feed  the  children  ; 
To  oil  their  hair,  and  look  at  themselves  in  brooks. 
Women  !  were  I  a  god, 

And  had  the  world  to  make,  I'd  make  no  women  ! 

And  thou  crying  for  women  ! — out  of  my  sight, 

Old  baby  !  {Laughing, 

Myr.  Sir,  thou  art  angry  ;  yet  wert  thou, 
Like  me.  a  wretched  slave  ■ 

Ing.  I  2  I  a  slave.    When  Ingomar  shall  fall, 
Uncouquerod  will  he  mount  among  the  gods ! 


INGOMAR. 


21 


(A  horn  is  heard.)     Hush!  silence!  yonder  is  Alastor's 

horn  :  [Myron  reti?es  uj)  stage. 

They're  here ! 

Enter  Novio,  l. 

Ing.  ( To  Novio  )    Is  it  they  ?    Speak  ! 

Novio.  Yes.  Yonder  come  they  through  the  valley  : 
Alaster,  hastening  before  the  rest, 
Climbs  nimbly  up  the  cliff.    Look,  he  is  here  ! 

Enter  Alastor  hastily,  from  back  of  stage.    Alemanni  enter 
from  different  parts,  and  gather  round  him. 

Ing.  How  now,  Alastor.  what  hast  brought?  what  news  rs 
what  booty? 

Alas.  None,  I  come  with  empty  hands. 

Ing.  Dost  thou  speak  true  ?    The  citizens  of  Avenna 
Send  every  year  their  fat  herds  to  the  pasture 
Upon  the  mountains.    Met  you  none  of  these  ? 

Alas.  No,  not  a  single  hoof. 

Ing.  Bad  news,  indeed. 
So  thou  bringest  1 

Alas  Nothing!  {Some  laugh,  some  grumble.)  Yet  stay~- 
one  thing  I've  brought, 
A  fanciful  pretty  thing  of  a  girl. 

AW  What !  a  woman  ?    Aha,  that's  good  1 
What  do  we  want  with  women  ? 

Ing.  A  girl? 

Alas.  She  gave  herself  up  to  us     We  lay  in  wait 
In  the  thicket  yonder,  watching  for  the  cattle, 
When  steps  rustled  in  the  distance,  voices  were  heard, 
And  she  came  hastily  bounding  along, 
Heedless  of  the  stony  path  or  burning  sun. 
Then  rushed  we  out ;  the  boy  who  was  her  guide 
Fled  ;  but  she  stood  there  still,  and  keeping  off 
Our  out-stretched  weapons  with  her  naked  hand, 
Cried,  '  Hold — I  seek  ye — are  ye  Alemanni?' 

Ing.  Ah,  a  brave  girl ! 

Nov.  And  you? 

Alas.  We  laughed.    Thou  seekest  us  said  we; 
Now  thou  hast  found  us,  thou  art  become  our  booty  J 
But  she,  freeing  herself  angnly  from  our  grasp, 


22 


INGOMAR. 


I 


Cried,  '  No,  no,  not  your  booty — I  am  come 
To  treat  for  ransom  for  your  slave  ;  and  so 
Give  me  safe  escort  to  your  chief 

Myr.  (Apart,  advancing.)    A  ransom  for  your  slave  I 

Ing.  If  so,  she  speaks  the  truth — she  has  free  escort. 

Alas.  So,  at  that  word,  we  liberated  her, 
Tc  guide  her  on  her  way  to  Ingomar. 
She  followed  us  with  rapid  steps,  and  if 
We  turned,  she  drew  herself  up  thus,  and  waved 
Her  hand  like  this.    Ha  !  ha  !    You  would  have  thought 
She  was  the  chief,  and  we  but  her  attendants. 

Trin.  Ah  !  she  has  a  heart  in  her  body  ! 

Ing.  For  what  slave's  ransom  come  she  7 

Alas.  For  Myron's  of  Massilia. 

Ing.  For  him  !  the  crying  baby — the  old  woman ! 

Myr.  Freed,  ransomed,  and  by  her  ! 
(To  Alastor.)    Oh,  tell  me — say,  has  she  not  glossy  hair, 
Her  eyes  bright,  and  her  limbs  like  the  young  fawn's, 
Her  voice  sweet  as  the  nightingale's?  so  sweet ! 
Oh  say,  sir,  is  it  not  my  child  % 

Alas  See  for  yourself,  she  is  here  ! 

Enter  Parthenia.  l.  u  e..  surrounded  by  several  Akmanni 

Myr.  [Rushing  to  meet  her.) 
Parthenia,  my  child  !  my  dear,  dear  child  ! 
}Tis  thou  ;  thine  eyes  beam  on  me.    Oh  ye  gods, 
Let  me  not  go  mad  ! 

Par.  {Embracing  him  )    My  dear  father  ! 

Ing.  (Laughing  )    There,  there— he  cries  again  !  Ye 
gods  of  thunder, 
The  fellow's  like  a  rain  cloud  ! 

Alas.  A  truce  to  tears  and  whimpering.  "Woman, 
Thou  seekest  Ingomar — this  is  he. 

Ing.  They  say  thou'rt  come  to  treat  for  this  man's  ransom. 
What  is  thy  offer  1 

Par.  Jewels  of  more  value 

Than  all  the  gold  of  earth  ;  a  faithful  wife's 
Prayers  to  her  latest  breath — a  daughter's  tears — 
A  rescued  household's  deathless  gratitude — 
The  blessing  of  the  gods  whose  liberal  hands 
Recompense  deeds  of  mercy,  thousand  fold. 


INGOMAR. 


Look — kneeling  at  your  feefc,  a  fainting  child 
Implores  a  gray-haired  father's  liberty. 
He  is  infirm,  old,  valueless  to  you ; 
But,  oh,  how  precious  to  his  widowed  home  ! 
Give  him,  then  up — oh,  give  him  to  me. 

Ing.  Give  him  ! 

Amb.  Is  that  the  ransom  ? 

Alas.  For  nothing  !  has  she  deceived  us  ? 

Ing.  Silence  ! 
Woman,  thy  father  is  booty  to  our  tribe  ; 
Were  he  but  -mine,  I'd  give  him  to  thee  freely, 
If  only  to  be  rid  of  his  tears  and  sighs 
But  if  thou  hast  deceived  us,  and  dost  dare 

Par.  [Suddenly  rising.)    Enough — 
There  need  no  threats.    I  but  misunderstood  you, 
Thinking  you  had  human  hearts — I'll  mend  of  that> 
And  speak  now  to  your  interests. 
You  ask  gold  for  his  ransom — he  has  none  ; 
But  he  has  strength  and  skill  that  yet  may  earn  it. 
With  opportunity  afforded  him. 
Here  there  is  none — he  cannot  pay  a  drachma. 
Keep  him,  and  slavery,  knawing  his  free  heart, 
In  a  few  weeks  shall  leave  you  but  his  bones. 
But  set  him  free,  my  mother  and  myself 
Will  labor  with  him ;  we  will  live  on  crusts, 
And  all  the  surplus  of  our  daily  toil 
Be  yours,  till  the  full  ransom  be  accomplished. 

Ing.  That's  not  without  some  sense  ;  but  where  ia  ottf 
surety, 

The  compact  should  be  kept  ? 

Par.  It  shall  not  fail 

For  lack  of  that — I'll  leave  with  you  a  pledge 
Dearer  to  him  than  liberty  or  life. 

Ing.  Hast  brought  it  with  thee  % 

Pur.  Ay. 

Ing.         Show  it. 

Par.  Myself. 

Myr.  Child — thou  art  mad  ! 

Ing.  Thyself? 

Par.  If  you  but  knew 
How  precious  to  him  is  his  child  you'd  not 


INGOMAR. 


Despise  the  hostage. 

Myr.  No — this  shall  not  be  ! 

Ing.  We  did  not  ask  your  counsel ; 
It's  a  strange  fancy,  and  yet — psha !  no,  no, 
Burthen  us  with  a  woman  ! 

Par.  No — no  burthen  ; 

I'll  be  a  help  to  you  ;  these  willing  hands 
Shall  do  more  work  than  twenty  pining  slaves j 
You  do  not  guess  my  usefulness ;  I  spin, 
Can  weave  your  garments,  and  prepare  your  meals 
Am  skilled  in  music,  and  can  tell  brave  tales, 
And  sing  sweet  songs  to  lull  you  to  repose. 
I  am  strong,  too — healthy  both  in  mind  and  body ; 
And,  when  my  heart's  at  ease,  my  natural  temper 
Is  always  joyous,  happy,  gay.    Oh,  fear  not  ? 

Ing.  Troth  !  there's  some  use  in  that ;  thy  fathei  can 
Only  cry.  — 

Par.  Say  yes — say  yes,  and  set  him  free  ! 

Myr.  {Distractedly.)    No,  she  is  mad — 

Ing.  Silence!  Comrades,  what  think  you ?  speak! 

[He  retires  with  Trinobantes     Myron  and  Partloenta 
are  left  alone  in  the  front. 

Myr.  Unhappy  girl  what  wouldst  thou  do  'I 

Par.  My  father, 
Thou  shalt  be  free. 

Myr  Would  not  our  friends, — the  Ti march  

Par.  All,  all  were  deaf ;  and  so  alone  I  came 
To  break  thy  chains. 

Myr.  Oh,  that  I  had  never  lived 
To  hear  these  words  !    Better  to  see  thee  fall 
In  the  bear's  den  than  here  to  be  with  these 
Whom  nature  but  made  human  out  of  scorn. 
And  thou,  my  child  !  [Taking  Iter  to  his  bosom. 

No,  no  ! 

Par.  Father,  it  must  be  so  ;  my  mother  grieves — 
Oh.  dry  her  tears.    I  am  yet  young  and  strong  ; 
I  could  bear  easily  what  would  kill  thee — 
Father,  be  free,  and  let  me  stay ! 

Myr  Here,  where  death  threatens  thee?  ay,  worse  than 
death, 

Violence,  insult ! — n?ver  !  sooner  this  dagger  


INGOMAR. 


25 


Par.  [Snatching  it  from  him.) 
Give  it  to  me.  aud  fear  not.    ]  will  live 
Worthy  of  thee  or  die  ! 

Ing.  (Parleying  ivi/Ji  his  troop  in  back  ground.) 
I  will  it  so --the  girl  shall  stay. 

Trin.  Let  us  keep  both. 

Ing.  No,  that  would  be  dishonest ;  she  has  come 
Trusting,  and  shall  not  be  deceived. 

[Advancing  to  Partlunia. 
Woman,  your  wish  is  granted  ;  we  take  thee 
As  hostage  for  the  other,  and  he  is  free. 

Par.  Be  thanked,  ye  gods  ! 

Myr.  No,  no!  I  am  yoar  slave, 
Aod  will  remain — let  her  return. 

Ing.  Who  cares  what  you  desire  ?    Away  with  thee  [ 

Myr.  My  child  !  [Clinging  to  her. 

Par.  Go,  go  my  father. 

Trin.  {Seizing  Myron.)    Quick — away,  away  ! 
Pa7.  No,  seize  him  not  so  roughly — see,  he  goes— 
Willingly  goes — away—delay  no  longer — 

0  ).  go. 

Myr.  Villains,  T  will  return,  for  the  destruction  of  you  all  / 
Amb.  Strike  him  dead  ! 
Pa?\  Oh,  save  him  ! 
Ing.  No,  send  him  forth  in  safety — 
}Tis  my  command. 
Tec.  Away  with  him  ! 

Myr.  {Forced  along  by  Alemanni.)    Parthenia,  my  <mild, 

Farewell !  {Exit  l.,  dragged  off  by  the  Alemanni. 
Par.  Farewell ! 
He  is  gone,  and  I  shall  never  see  him  more  ! 

[She  clasps  her  hands  before  her  face,  and  stands  sob' 
bing  in  the  foreground. 
Ing.  [  Who  has  been  standing  on  a  rock  looking  at  thepro' 
ccedings  of  his  followers. 
No  violence  !  Ho  !  how  he  runs  !  and  now 
He  stops  and  cries  again  !    Poor  fearful  fool ! 
It  must  be  strange  to  fear  :  now,  by  my  troth., 

1  should  like  to  feel,  for  once,  what  'tis  to  fear  ! 

But  the  girl ;  {leaning  forward.}    Ha  !  do  I  see  right  ? 
you  weep  !  [  To  Parthenia. 


26 


INGOMAR. 


Is  that  the  happy  temper  that  you  boast? 

Par.  Oh,  I  shall  never  see  him  more. 

Ing.  What !  have  we 
For  a  silly  old  man,  got  now  a  foolish 
And  timid  weeping  girl?    I  have  had  enough 
Of  tears. 

Par.  Enough,  indeed,  since  you  but  mock  them  ! 
I  will  not — no,  I'll  weep  no  more. 

[She  quickly  dries  her  eyes,  a?id  retires  to  the  back 
ground. 

Ing.  That's  good  ;  come,  that  looks  well  ; 
She  is  a  brave  girl  !  she  rules  herself,  and  if 
She  keep  her  word,  we  have  made  a  good  exchange — 
1  I'll  weep  no  more.'    Aha  !  I  like  the  girl. 

And  if  Ho  !  whither  goest  thou  1 

[  To  Parthenia  who  is  going  off  with  tivo  goblets. 
Par.  Where  should  I  go  ?  to  yonder  brook,  to  cleanse 

the  cups. 
Ing.  No  !  stay  and  talk  with  me. 

Par  I  have  duties  to  perform.  [Going. 

Ing.  Stay— I  command  you,  slave  ! 

Par.  I  am  no  slave  !  your  hostage,  but  no  slave. 
I  go  to  cleanse  the  cups.  [Exit  l. 

Ing.  Ho !  here's  a  self-willed  thing— here  is  a  spirit ! 

[Mimicking  lier. 
1  I  will  not,  I  am  no  slave  !  I  have  duties  to  perform  ! 
Take  me  for  hostage !'  and  she  flung  back  her  head 
As  though  she  brought  with  her  a  ton  of  gold ! 
*  I'll  weep  no  more,'— Aha  !  an  impudent  thing. 
She  pleases  me  !    I  love  to  be  opposed  ; 
I  love  my  horse  when  he  rears,  my  dogs  when  they  snarl, 
The  mountain  torrent,  and  the  sea,  when  it  flings 
Its  foam  up  to  the  stars  ;  such  things  as  these 
Fill  me  with  life  and  joy.    Tame  indolence 
Is  living  death  !  the  battle  of  the  strong 
Alone  is  life ! 

[During  this  speech  Parthenia  hat  returned  with  tJie 
cujis  and  a  bundle  of  field  flowers.  SJie  seats  herself 
on  a  piece  of  rock  in  front. 

Ing.  Ah  !  she  is  here  again.  (He  approac/m  her,  and 
lewis  over  her  on  the  rock.)    What  art  thou  making  there  ? 


INGOMAR. 


Par.  II  garlands. 

Ing.  Garlands? 
.Musing.']    It  seems  to  rne  as  I  before  bad  seen  ber 
In  a  dream  !  How  !  Ah,  my  brother  ! — be  who  died 
A  child— yes.  that  is  it.'   My  little  Folko— 
She  has  his  dark  brown  hair,  his  sparkling  eye  : 
Even  the  voice  seems  known  again  to  me  : 
I'll  not  to  sleep — I'll  talk  to  her.  [Returns  to  kef 

These  you  call  garlands, 
And  wherefore  do  you  weave  them  ? 

Par.  For  these  cups. 

big.  How  % 

Par.  Is  it  not  with  you  a  custom  1    "With  us 
At  home,  we  love  to  intertwine  with  flowers, 
Our  cups  and  goblets. 

Ing.  What  use  is  such  a  plaything? 

Par.  Use  ?  They  are  beautiful ;  that  is  their  use. 
The  sight  of  them  makes  glad  the  eye  ;  their  scent 
llefreshes,  cheers.  There 

[Fastens  the  half-finished  garland  round  a  cup,  and 
jiresents  it  to  him.]    Is  not  that,  now,  beautiful  ? 

Ing.  Ay — by  the  bright  sun  !  That  dark  green  mixed  up 
With  the  gay  flowers  !  Thou  must  teach  our  women 
To  weave  such  garlands. 

Par.  That  is  soon  done  :  thy  wife 
Herself  shall  soon  weave  wreaths  as  well  as  I. 

Ing.  {Laughing heartily.)  My  wife  I  my  wife  !  a  woman 
Dost  thou  say  ? 

I  thank  the  gods,  not  I*    This  is  my  wife — 

[Pointing  to  his  accoutrements. 
My  spear,  my  shield,  my  sword  ;  let  him  who  will 
Waste  cattle,  slaves,  or  gold,  to  buy  a  woman  ; 
Not  I— not  I ! 

Par.  To  buy  a  woman  ? — how  ? 

Ing.  What  is  the  matter  %  why  dost  look  so  strangely  I 

Par.  How  !  did  I  hear  aright  ?  bargain  for  brides 
As  you  would  slaves — buy  them  like  cattle  ? 

Ing.  Well,  I  think  a  woman  fit  only  for  a  Siavc. 
We  follow  our  own  customs,  as  you  yours. 
How  do  you  in  your  city  there  1 

Par.  Consult  our  hearts. 


28 


ING  OMAR. 


Massilia's  free-bcrn  daughters  are  not  sold, 

Hut  bound  by  choice  with  bands  as  light  and  sweet 

As  these  I  hold.    Love  only  buys  us  there. 

Ing.  Marry  for  love — what  !  do  you  love  your  husbands  \ 

Par.  Why  marry  else  ? 

Ing.  Marry  for  love  ;  that's  strange  ! 
I  cannot  comprehend.    I  love  my  horse, 
My  dogs,  my  brave  companions — but  no  woman  ! 
What  dost  thou  mean  by  love — what  is  it,  girl? 

Par.  What  is  it  ?    "Tis  of  all  things  the  most  sweet — 
The  heaven  of  life — or,  so  my  mother  says, 
I  never  felt  it. 

Ing.  Never  1 

Par.  No,  indeed.         [Looking  at  garland. 

Now  look  how  beautiful!    Here  would  I  weave 
Red  flowers  if  I  had  them. 

Ing.  Yonder  there, 

Id  that  thick  wood  they  grow 

Par.  How  sayest  thou  ? 

[Looking  off.)    Oh.  what  a  lovely  red  !    Go.  pluck  me  some. 

Ing.  {Star ting  at  the  suggestion.)    I  go  for  thee  ?  the 
master  serve  the  slave  ! 

[Gazing  on  her  with  increasing  interest. 
And  yet,  why  not  ?  I'll  go — the  poor  child's  tired. 

Par.  Dost  thou  hesitate  ? 

Ing.  No,  thou  shalt  have  the  flowers, 
As  fresh  and  dewy  as  the  bush  affords.       [He  goes  off.  r„ 

Par.  {Holding  out  the  ivreath.) 
I  never  yet  succeeded  half  so  well. 
It  will  be  charming!  Charming  ?  and  for  whom? 
Here  among  savages  !  no  mother  here 
Looks  smiling  on  it — I  am  alone,  forsaken  ! 
But  no,  I'll  weep  no  more  !    No,  none  shall  say  I  fear  . 

Re-enter  Ingomar,  ivith  a  bunch  of  floivers,  and  slmdy 
advancing  toivards  Parthcnia 

Ing.  (Aside.)  The  little  Folko.  when  in  his  play  he  wanted 
Flowers  or  fruit,  would  so  cry  '  Bring  them  to  me  ; 
Quick  !  I  will  have  them — these  I  will  have  i>r  none  ;' 
Till  somehow  he  compelled  me  to  obey  him, 
And  she,  with  the  same  spirit,  the  same  tire—- 


INGOMAR. 


29 


Yes,  there  is  much  of  the  bright  child  in  her  ■ 

Well,  she  shall  be  a  little  brother  to  me  ! 

There  are  the  flowers.  [He  hands  lier  tJie  flowers. 

Par.  Thanks,  thanks,    Oh,  thou  hast  broken  them 
Too  short  off  in  the  stem. 

[She  throws  some  of  them  on  the  ground. 

Ing.  Shall  I  go  and  get  thee  more  1 

Par.  No,  these  will  do. 

Ing.  Tell  me  now  about  your  home — I  will  sit  here, 
Near  thee. 

Par.  Not  there  :  thou  art  crushing  all  the  flowers. 

Ing.  (Seating  himself  at  her  feet.) 
Well,  well ;  I  will  sit  here.  then.    And  now  tell  me, 
What  is  your  name  ! 

Par.  Parthenia. 

Ing.  Parthenia ! 

A  pretty  name  !  and  now,  Parthenia,  tell  me 
How  that  which  you  call  love  grows  in  the  soul ; 
And  what  love  is  :  'tis  strange,  but  in  that  word 
^There's  something  seems  like  yonder  ocean — fathomless. 

Par.  How  shall  I  say  1    Love  comes,  my  mother  sayo. 
Like  flowers  in  the  night — reach  me  those  violets — — 
It  is  a  flame  a  single  look  will  kindle, 
But  not  an  ocean  quench. 
Fostered  by  dreams,  excited  by  each  thought, 
Love  is  a  star  from  heaven,  that  points  the  way 
And  leads  us  to  its  home — a  little  spot 
In  earth's  dry  desert,  where  the  soul  may  rest — 
A  grain  of  gold  in  the  dull  sand  of  life — 
A  foretaste  of  Elysium  ;  but  when, 
Weary  of  this  world's  woes,  the  immortal  gods 
Flew  to  the  skies,  with  all  their  richest  gifts, 
Love  stayed  behind,  self-exiled  for  man's  sake  ! 

Ing.  I  never  yet  heard  aught  so  beautiful ! 
But  still  I  comprehend  it  not. 

Par.  Nor  I : 

For  I  have  never  felt  it ;  yet  I  know 
A  song  my  mother  s-ang,  an  ancient  song, 
That  plainly  speaks  of  love,  at  least  to  me. 
How  goes  it  ?  stay — 

\Sloivly,  as  trying  to  recollect. 


30 


INGOMAR. 


*  What  love  is,  if  thou  wouldst  be  taught. 

Thy  heart  must  teach  alone, — 
Two  souls  with  but  a  single  thought, 

Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one.' 

'  And  whence  comes  love  ?  like  morning's  lighi. 

It  comes  without  thy  call ; 
And  how  dies  love  1— A  spirit  bright, 

Love  never  dies  at  all !' 

And  when — and  when  

{Hesitating,  as  unable  to  continue. 

In g.  Go  on. 
Par.  I  know  no  more. 
Ing.  (Impatiently.)    Try — Try. 
Par.  I  cannot  now  ;  but  at  some  other  time 
I  may  remember. 

Ing.  (Somewhat  authoritatively  )    Now,  go  on,  I  say. 
Par.  (Springing  up  in  alarm.)    Not  now,  I  want  mora 
roses  for  my  wreath  ! 
Yonder  they  grow,  I  will  fetch  them  for  myself. 
Take  care  of  all  my  flowers  and  the  wreath  ! 

[Throws  the  flowers  into  Ingomar's  lap  and  runs  off". 
Ing.  (After  a  pause,  without  changing  his  position,  speak- 
ing to  himself  in  deep  abstraction. ) 

1  Two  souls  with  but  a  single  thought, 
Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one.' 

[  The  curtain  falls. 

END  OF  ACT  II. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I  — As  before. 

Enter  Alastor,  Ambivar,  Trinobantes,  Samo,  and  olhi* 

Alemanni,  r.  and  l. 

Trin.  Well.  Alastor,  and  what  says  he? 

Alas.  Oh,  the  old  reply — still,  still  to-morrow. 

Amb.  Thunder  and  lightning  !  thus  to  linger  here  !    If  we 


INGOMAR. 


31 


join  them  not  soon,  those  at  home  will  begin  the  war  against 
the  Allobrogi  without  us,  and  deny  us  all  share  of  the  spoil. 
Why  not  choose  another  chief?  Ingomar  has  become  a 
woman  :  he  leaves  the  chase  and  our  company,  to  loll  on  the 
grass  with  this  Greek  girl,  hearing  her  tales  and  songs.  I  say, 
choose  another  chief — I'll  lead  you. 

Alas.  No. — no  chief  but  Ingomar.  Let  us  but  get  this 
girl  away,  and  he  will  be  himself  again. 

Samo.  But  she  is  his. 

Trin.  Not  so  : — she  is  ours  as  much  ;  but  what  shall  we  do 
with  her? 

Amb.  Sell  her  for  a  slave  to  the  merchants  from  Carthage. 
Now  on  the  far  off  sea  a  ship  of  theirs  appears.  Let  us  look 
out  and  hail  them  ;  then  seize  the  girl,  and  sell  her  to  them. 
The}-  will  givo  us  arms  and  armlets  for  her. 

Alas.  Silence — he  is  here  ;  one  trial  more  '  away  with  you. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Alastor,  l. 

E?ite?%  Ingomar,  sloiuly,  r.  u.  e. 

Ing.  Home,  home  !    Ay,  to  their  home,  but  not  to  mine, 
For  here  appears  my  home  !    It  seems  to  me 
As  here  I  was  born,  as  here  my  eyes  first  saw 
The  light,  my  heart  first  felt,  my  soul  first  thought. 
Here,  here. 

Alas.  Now,  Ingomar,  once  more  we  ask  of  thee,  when  wilt 
thou  break  the  camp  up,  and  return  ?    Thou  hearest  me  not. 

Ing.  Oh,  ah  !  Alastor — yes  !  thou  earnest  to  tell  me  the 
fish  are  all  exhausted  from  the  brook  ;  the  wild  beasts  scared 
from  the  forests  ;  and  there  is  scarcely  food  left  sufficient  *br 
the  cattle. 

Alas.  It  is  so.  Nor  is  that  all :  the  time  approaches  when 
our  people  at  home,  to  avenge  the  old  insult,  have  resolved 
upon  an  inroad  on  the  Allobrogi ;  and  shall  we  miss  it? 

Ing.  Miss  it!  I? — Ingomar?  Thunder  and  lightning 
shall  sooner  fail  the  storm  than  I  the  strife  !  the  war  !  Where 
are  the  others  ? 

Alas.  Encamped  yonder  upon  the  moss,  waiting  your 
orders. 

Ing.  G-ive  them  mead  so  long  as  the  stock  lasts,  and  let 
them  drink. 
A  .as.  Whai  do  we  not  break  up  ? 


32 


INGOMAR. 


Ing.  I  will  consider  of  it  till  to-morrow. 

Alas   Again  to  morrow  ? 

Ing.  Yes,  to-morrow,  I  said.    Go  ! 

Alas.  Changed  thou  seemest  to  me  in  word  and  nature, 
and  scarcely  now  I  know  thee.    Well,  then,  to-morrow- 

[Exit  l. 

Ing.  (Solus.)    Scarce  know  me  !  true — I  scarcely  know 
myself. 

What  ails  me  ? — am  I  ill  then  ?    Yes,  that  is  it. 

I  am  bewildered  in  a  feverish  dream  ; 

And  my  thoughts  ramble  to  I  know  not  where. 

[Throws  himself  on  a  fragment  of  rock — after  a  pause. 
I  struck  a  roe  once  with  my  arrow,  while 
Close  by  my  victim's  side,  who  soaked  the  turf 
Around  her  with  her  blood,  her  young  one  stood, 
Ignorant  of  its  danger  ;  as  I  drew  near 
To  take  up  the  dead  mother  on  my  shoulder, 
The  fawn  sprang  to  me,  and  even  took  its  food 
Out  of  my  hand,  loooking  up  in  my  face, 
With  its  dark,  innocent  eyes.    'Tis  strange,  I  ever 
Think  of  these  eyes  when  I  behold  that  girl's, 
Now  sparkling  in  their  pride,  now  bright  in  confidence, 
As  carelessly  she  lets  her  soul  appear — 
Her  childlike  soul.  [Springing  up. 

What?    She — and  she  again,  and  always  she 
By  all  the  gods,  has  Ingomar  nothing  better 
To  think  of  than  a  woman  and  her  looks  : 
Than  a  slave's  eyes  ? 

[Clashing  of  arms  and  slwuts  feard  vnlhouo. 
Hark  !  how  amid  their  revelry 
They  raise  the  battle-cry.    The  clang  of  arms, 
And  war,  and  victory  for  me  ! — Away 
With  idle  dreams  !  why,  what  to  me  arc  women  1 
Yet  she— ah  !  she  is  not  like  those  at  home. 
Clad  in  their  shaggy  skins,  sunburned,  their  bodies 
Loaded  with  clumsy  ornaments,  happy  in  bondage, 
With  base  caresses  humbly  seeking  favor 

Of  their  coarse  lords.    But  she  

[Shouts  and  cries  again  hmrd, 
That  cry  again ! 
In  vain  !  in  vain  !  no  echo  answers  you, 


INGOMAR. 


Among  the  pulses  of  my  heart.    I — oh,  I  am  sick  ! 
What  ails  me  ?    Yes.  I  am  ill — sick. 

[Throws  himself  again  on  the  ro^k. 

vnter  Parthenia.  icith  a  little  basket  on  her  arm. 
She  advances  without  observing  Ingomar. 

Par.  My  tender  father,  my  poor  mother,  now 
Think  on  their  child:  they  fancy  me,  perhaps, 
Tormented,  ill-used.  dead.    But  how  much  better 
Has  it  fared  with  me  than  T  could  have  dared 
To  hope  !    These  men  are  wild,  indeed,  and  rough, 
But  yet  not  cruel.    And  for  Ingomar, 
He  is  kind  and  gentle  ;  yet,  at  times,  how  fierce 
He  looks!  as  if  he'd  kill  me.    {Looking  around.")    Ah  ! 
is  here. 

Ing.  (Rising.)    Thou  !  from  whence  comest  thou  ? 

Par.  I  have  been  picking  berries 
In  yonder  wood  ;  see.  here  is  a  basket  full 
Wilt  thou  

Ing.  No  !  no  ! 

Par.  '  No,  no  !'    No,  thank  you,  I  think 

Were  quite  as  easily  said  as  '  no  !' — no,  thank  you — 
Post  hear?    Why  dost  thou  gaze  upon  me  thus? 

Ing.  Away  !  leave  me — I  would  be  alone. 

Parthenia  turns  to  depart. 

No,  stay  ! 

Stay  with  me,  Parthenia. 
Oh.  that  thou  wert  a  man! 

Par.  A. man ! 

Ing.  Oh,  then  would  all  be  right,  and  happy  ?  Ay 
Thou  sbouldst  be  my  companion  in  the  chase, 
My  brother  in  arms ;  and  I  would  be  to  thee 
Like  to  thy  shadow. — I  would  watch  over  thee 
Whilst  thou  wert  sleeping — would  refresh  thee 
When  thou  wert  weary.    As  the  sea  reflects 
The  heavens,  or  as  the  brook  the  bright  blue  flowers 
That  blow  upon  its  banks,  so  would  my  soul 
Mirror  each  thought  of  thine  !  thy  smiles  were  mine  ; 
Thy  griefs,  too.  mine.    Oh  !  we  would  share  together 
All  things  in  life.  \Slowly  to  himself. 


34 


INGOM  Alt. 


{ Two  souls  with  but  a  single  thought, 
Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one.' 

Par.  Why,  that  Is  the  old  song  my  mother  taughfc  m9, 
Ing.  That  is  the  song  that  burns  in  my  brain— 

The  lightning  that  illuminates  the  clouds  ! 

Didst  thou  not  tell  me  once,  love  was  a  fire 

That  a  look  kindles,  and  that  dreams  do  foster? 

Yes.  it  is  true  ;  it  maddens  here  ;  and  high, 

High  as  the  heaven,  rises  its  flame. 
Par,  What,  love  ? 

Ing.  Love,  thou  didst  tell  me,  did  thy  mother  say, 
Love  was  a  star  to  lead  us  on  to  heaven. 
Come,  then,  oh  come  !  its  rays  glitter  before  us, 
And  bright  and  clear,  they  light  us  on  our  way. 

Par.  How  his  eyes  sparkle,  his  cheeks  glow  !  ye  goas 

Ing.  Let  the  gods  rest  in  the  bosem  of  the  clouds  ; 
Let  them  take  with  them  still  whatever  the  world 
Possessed  of  good — love,  only  love,  thou  saidst,  * 
They  have  forgotten. — loving  let  us  be  then. 
And  happy.  [Laying  hold  of  her  by  the  hands. 

Par.  Away  ! 

Ing.  {Passionately  )    Thus,  thus  I  seize  thee — Parthenia 

thou  art  mine. 
Par.  {Starting  bach  in  alarm.)    Ho  !  stand  off — away  ! 
Another  step,  and  I  lie  dead  before  thee. 

\_Dr awing  her  dagger  and  -pointing  it  to  her  breast. 
Ing.  Hold,  bold  !  Why  do  I  pause  1  what  terror  strikes  ma  ? 
Am  I  not  Jngomar,  and  is  not  she 
My  slave  ? 

How  angrily  her  eyes  gleam  on  me  ; 

I  never  feared,  yet  her  eyes  make  me  fear  ! 

Par.  Oh  !  most  unhappy  !  lost ! 

Ing.                                I  have  frightened  thee. 
I  was  too  rash.    I  know,  rude  is  my  nature, 
And  rough  my  manners ;  yet  my  love  

Par.  Thy  love  ! 
This  is  not  love  !    The  love  whose  mystic  dream 
Has  filled  my  heart  and  thought,  is  not  a  thing 
Of  insult,  injury,  as  you  now  show  to  me. 
It  is  a  feeling  all  unselfish,  gentle  : 
One  which  exalts,  ennobles.    If  a  fire, 


INGOMAR. 


35 


ii  is  to  warm,  o  cheer,  and  comfort,  not 
To  blast  and  scorch.    Away,  away  !  profane  not 
S^p  sacred  name.    This  may  be  violence, 
*~  '  Passion,  but  never  love  !  [About  to  gu, 

I?ig.  {Imperiously)  Remain,  I  say  ! 
Knowest  who  I  am?  the  chief  among  my  people  ! 
The  reputation  of  ray  deeds  resounds 
Throughout  these  mountains,  and  I  am  thy  master. 
Girl,  who  art  thou  ? 

Far.  Who  am  I  ?    I  am  Parthenia — 
An  armorer's  child  indeed,  but  yet  a  Greek — 
Massilia's  free-born  daughter,  nourished 
On  a  pure  mother's  breast,  cradled  in  the  arms 
Of  beaut}7  and  refinement,  reared  from  childhood 
In  the  holy  service  of  our  righteous  gods  ! 
While  thou — thou  art  the  rude  forest's  outlaw  son, 
A  savage — a  barbarian — desolater 
Of  the  fair  land — a  cattle-stealer.  Know, 
That  we  at  home  flog  thieves,  and  hang  up  robbers  ! 

Ing.  Darest  thou  

Par.  And  now  thou  knowest  who  I  am, 
And  who  thou  art ! 

Ing.  Scorn  and  derision  !  scorn 

To  me !    Now  then,  by  all  the  gods,  I'll  teach  thee 
How  we  treat  slaves  ! 

Par.  You  tame  them  with  the  whip, 

With  hunger,  pain,  and  thirst.    But  your  slaves  love  not, 
They  only  hate,  despise,  as  I  do  thee  ! 

Ing.  Be  silent,  or  

Par.  No  !  for  I  scorn,  deride  thee. 

Ing.  Thy  life  ! 

Par.  Take  it  ! 

Ing.  (Rushing  at  lier  with  his  sword  drawn  and  sud 
denly  stopping.)  No,  no,  I  cannot;  rage 

Inflames  my  blood — my  brain  will  burst. 
Oh,  I  could  tear  the  world,  myself,  in  pieces. 

[  Throws  himself  violently  on  the  ground* 
Par.  {After  a  pause.)    How  is  this?    his  sword  lies  at 
my  feet,  which  now 
Gleamed  threatening  at  my  heart !  and  he  struck  down 
And  almost  senseless  !  Was  I  too  harsh  with  him? 


36 


INGOMAR. 


Whence  came  the  sudden  rage  that  fiJed  my  breast- 
Tins  pride,  this  arrogance  ?    Do  I  see  aright  ? 
He  weeps  !    Why  weepest  thou.  Ingomar? 

Ing.   (Springing  vjj.)    I  weep?    'Tia  false — I  do  no* 
weep     Despise  me  !  me — 
The  pride  and  boast  of  all  my  race,  the  terror 
Of  mine  enemies  !  by  the  bright  sun  ! 

J  After  ajiause,  looking  sternly  on  her. 
Depart ! 

Go,  I  can  do  without  thee ;  I  can — I  can. 

Depart — thou  art  free  !  dost  hear  ?  free  as  myself ; 

Go  to  thy  home — away,  do  not  delay  ! 

Thy  breath  infests  me  with  a  feverish  heat  ! 

Thy  sight  is  poison  ! — Go.  go,  go  !  [He  rushes  out. 

Par.  How  ?  free  ! 

Did  he  say  free  ?  and  shall  again  my  mother, 
My  father,  open  to  me  their  arms ?    And  yet 
Can  I  leave  him  in  anger  ?  him  who  made 
The  yoke  of  slavery  so  light  to  me  ? 
Who  now  has  given  me  freedom,  though  in  rage  ? 
No,  no,  I'll  wait — he  will  return,  and  then 
A  kind  word  from  my  lips  perhaps  will  calm 
And  soften  him.    Then  with  a  lightened  heart 
Shall  I  return 

[She  seats  herself  on  a  rock,  ivhile  from  behind 

Enter  Samo,  Novio,  and  Ambivar. 

Samo.  Ah  !  she  is  alone  ;  the  boat  approaches  the  shore  ; 
now  seize  her. 

[Novio  and  Ambivar  adva?ice  and  take  hold  of  her. 
Par.  Ah  !  ruffians,  what  would  you? 
Nov.  Away  with  her  to  the  beach 
Par.  Villains,  unhand  me. 
Amb.  Silence,  worm ! 

Par.  Ingomar  !  help  !  save  me,  Ingomar  ! 

[  TJiey  drag  her  off. 
Ing.  (  Without.)    Who  calls  there  ?  was  it  not  her  voice  ? 

Enter  Ingomar,  r. 

Ing.  Ambivar  ?    A  sword — a  sword. 


I  NO  OMAR. 


37 


[Seizes  the  sword  which  he  h:,d  before  let  fall  n  the 
ground. 
Ah  !  here  villains — hold,  hold. 

[Rushes  after  thou.    After  a  pause  Parthenia  rushe* 

on  and  falls  on  the  bank. 
Par.  Saved  !  saved  ! 

Enter  Ingomae,  hurriedly,  l. 

lag.  {Going  tip  to  Parthenia,  and  taking  her  hand.) 
It  is  I — I — how  white  thou  art ! 
Thou  tremblest :  art  thou  hurt  ?  Parthenia, 
It  is  ray  arm  supports  thee.    Did  they  dare 
With  their  rough  hands  to  seize  my  lovely  flower? 
Why  dost  thou  tremble  1    Oh  !  they  shall  repent  it : 
They  shall,  like  worms,  crawl  in  the  dust  before  thee 

Par.  Hark,  steps — they  come. 

Ing.  Fear  not,  for  i  am  wita  .hee. 
No  power  on  earth  shall  harm  thee. 

Par.  Look — they  come. 

Ing.  Let  them  !  like  the  eagle  when  its  nest  is  seized, 
With  god-like  strength  I  feel  my  arm  is  braced  ; 
And  if  Heaven's  lightning  strike  me  not,  I  bid 
Defiance  to  all  power  man  can  bring. 

Enter  the  Alemanni,  Alastoe,  Novio,  and  Samo,  l,  u.  e. 
armed  ivith  spears,  swords,  and  clubs. 

Ing.  Stand  off,  and  speak  !    What  brings  you  '? 
Alas.  Thou  hast  wounded  Ambivar  to  the  death. 
Ing.    That  did  I  when  he  dared  to  seize  upon 
This  maid,  my  property. 
Alas.  She  is  not  thine. 
Samo.  Give  up  the  woman, 
Ing.  Sooner  my  life, 
Nov,  Seize  her. 
Ing.  Come  on, 

Par.  {Throwing  herself  into  his  arms.) 
They  are  too  many — they  will  kill  thee  ! 
Ing.  Away,  woman  !  come  on. 

Alas.  [Interposing  between  Ingomar  and  the  Alemanni* 
Hold — hear  me,  friends  ;  and  hear  me,  Ingomar. 
We  chose  thee  for  our  leader,  and  we  promised  thee 


38 


INGOMAR. 


The  fifth  part  of  the  booty.    But  thou  givest 
Thyself  to  indolent  rest,  and  proudly  dost 
Appropriate  this  slave.    Thus  thou  hast  broken 
The  law  of  right  and  peace. 

Ing.  I  broke  them  not.    'Twas  he,  that  other,  did. 
Who.  seizing  her.  robbed  you,  as  well  as  me, 
And  well-deserved  his  fate.    But  I  am  weary 
Of  holding  your  proud  race  in  check.    Then  go  : 
Choose  your  own  path.    I  separate  myself 
From  you.    But  she  is  mine.    The  fifth  part  of  the  spoil, 
My  share  by  right,  I  give  you  as  her  ransom. 
Is  it  agreed  'I    If  not,  then  let  the  sword  

Trin,  The  fifth  of  the  spoil !  said  he  so.  indeed  i 

Samo  Shall  we  agree  % 

Alas*  The  fifth  part  of  the  booty,  didst  thou  say? 
Ing.  l  did. 

Alas.  Then  be  it  so.    The  slave  is  thine. 
But  still,  if  thou  wilt  lead  our  steps  towards  home, 
We  will  obey  thee  as  truly  as  before. 

Ing.  No.  I  am  weary — I  will  seek  new  lands. 
New  customs     Go  you  hence — I  will  remain. 

Alas.  Consider  the  inroad  on  the  Allobrogi. 

Ing.  I  have  considered  all  enough.  Farewell. 

Exeunt  Alle?ncnm}  l. 
They  are  gone.    And  now,  Parthenia,  thou  art  safe — 
Thou  art  free.    How  pale  thou  art,  and  trembling  still. 
Here,  sit  thee  down  and  rest. 

Par.  Oh,  Ingomar, 
Be  thanked,  be  blessed  ! 

Ing.  Thanked —and  for  what  ? 

Pa?-  I  know 
Thou  only  didst  that  which  thy  generous  heart 
Compelled  thee  to  j  and  yet  have  I,  deserted 
By  my  own  people,  in  the  desert  found 
From  thee  protection. 

[She  kisses  his  hand  and  bursts  into  tears 
And  now — now  farewell ! 

Ing.  Farewell  1  what  sayest  thou  ? 
Wilt  thou  not  go  with  me  ? 

Par.  Thou  hast  restored  my  freedom  :  I  would  seek 
My  home. 

Ing  1  give  thee  freedom  ?    I  ?  thou  dreamest. 


INGOMAR. 


Par.  What  ?  wilt  thou  break  thy  word  ? 

Ing.  My  word  !  did  I  give  my  word  ? 

Par.  Thou  didst. 

Ing.  Go.  go,  then — go. 

Par.  {Going.)  Bless  thee  ? 

Ing.  Stay.  stay.  Parthenia.     Oh  !  it  seems 
That  day  shall  shine  no  more  upon  the  earth, 
The  sun's  bright  beams  be  quenched  in  endless  night, 
parthenia,  wilt  thou  go?    Oh,  wilt  thou  leave  me? 

Par.  My  parents  wait  their  child. 

Ing.  They  do  ;  go,  go,  then  ! 
Yet  think  of  the  dark  wood,  the  dizzy  cliff, 
The  dreadful  chasms  and  the  roaring  floods, 
The  wolf  and  bear — and  thou  to  go  alone. 

Par.  I  came  alone,  and  can  return  so,  too. 

Ing.  Thou  wilt  be  lost.    Alastor,  Novio, 
They  shall  conduct  thee.    Ho,  there  ! 

Pur.  They  !  oh,  no. 
Kather  the  wolves  and  bear  than  those  wild  ruffians. 

Ing  Ah,  true,  indeed.    That  were  to  trust  the  lamb 
To  the  wolf's  keeping.    1,  I  will  myself 
Conduct  thee. 

Par.  Thou? 

Ing.  Why  dost  thou  look  so  fearful  ? 
Thou  thinkest  me  no  safer  than  the  rest. 
But  now  I  am  not  what  I  was.    Till  now 
Never  did  I  know  fear,  scarce  tears — not  even  when 
A  child.    But  thou  hast  taught  me  both  to  day. 
Doubt  me  no  more — believe  me,  trust  me.  then  ; 
I  call  the  gods  to  witness  

Par.  Nay,  swear  not ; 
Thine  eyes  speak  truer,  holier,  than  oaths : 
And  if  they  lie,  then  all  is  false  indeed  ; 
Conduct  me,  be  my  guide — I  trust  thee. 

Ing.  Ah! 

Thou  dost  consent  ?    Oh  !  I  will  seek  thee  out 
The  forest's  coolest  shade,  the  softest  turf, 
Guard  thee  from  every  stone,  from  every  brier ; 
My  arm  shall  thus  support — no,  not  support- 
But  carry  thee. 

Par.  Dost  think  I  am  a  child, 
That  thou  wouldst  carry  me  '?    I  do  not  want 


40 


INGOMAR. 


Even  thine  arm — I  care  not  for  fatigue— 
Thou  shalt  not  carrv  me  :  but  

Ing,  What  2 

Par.  The  basket. 

Ing.  The  basket? 

Par.  Yes,  the  basket  with  the  berries. 
Wilt  thou  not  do  it  ? 

[Taking  up  the  basket  from  the  ground,  and  handing 
it  to  him 
Ing.  Yes.  I  will — I  will. 

Par.  And  I  will  take  thy  spear,  thy  shield,  and  sword. 
[Taking  them  from  the  tree  against  nhich  Ingomat 
had  placed  theni 

Ing.  No,  no,  that  cannot  be. 

Par.  It  shall  be  so, — 
It  is  my  humor.    From  my  childhood  up, 
You  know,  I  hare  been  accustomed  to  bright  arms  ; 
I  seem  to  inherit  it  in  my  blood, 
From  my  dear  father.    And  now,  why  delay  we  ? 
Thou  hast  the  basket,  I  the  arms — we'll  go. 
Dost  hear?    Why  standest  thou  silent — motionless  ? 

Ing.  All  seems  a  dream  to  me.    Come,  then,  this  way — 
Down  by  the  rock. 

Par.  Forward  !  the  guide  before. 
1  will  close  follow  thee — my  friend,  protector  : 
On,  on.  [Exeunt,  l. 

END  OF  ACT  III. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I  — In  the  background  appears  Massilia  and  a 
view  of  the  sea.  In  the  front,  to  the  left,  a  rocky  eminence 
overgrown  with  bushes,  from  which  a  narrow  path  leads 
down  to  the  stage 

Enter  Myron,  Adrastus,  and  Elphenoti,  l. 

Myr.  Shame,  I  say.  shame  !  The  wolf  will  help  the  wolf 
yet  yonder  town,  that  boasts  its  civilization,  justice,  and  law 
sees,  without  stirring  a  hand,  her  citizens  become  a  prey  to 


INGOMAR. 


41 


slavery,  and  is  deaf  to  her  children's  cry  for  help.  Shame,  I 
say — shame  I 

Adr.  Full  well  thou  knowest  'tis  an  old  law,  first  made 
when  the  infant  colony  struggled  for  existence  with  the  wild 
natives  cf  the  land,  that  no  further  than  the  shadow  of  her 
walls  reached,  would  the  state  protect  her  citizens  ;  and  thee 
they  seized  in  the  mountains. 

Myr.  Oh,  wise  decree  !  Oh,  father-like  protection  !  First 
they  refuse  a  child  her  parent's  ransom ;  and  when  she,  fol- 
lowing her  heart's  pious  bent,  submits  her  own  head  to  the 
yoke  for  mine,  then  they  deny  me  aid,  in  men  or  money,  to 
rescue  my  poor  child  from  worse  than  death. — Again  I  cry 
shame — shame  ! 

Elf).  We  are  not  strangers  to  your  grief,  but  suffer  with 
you  ;  and  when  thy  child  asked  us  for  help,  we  paused,  only 
to  find  a  path  of  deliverance,  while  she  

Myr.  Ah.  she  !  a  woman  in  heart,  a  man  in  courage  !  Oh, 
my  poor  child — my  child  ! 

Adr  Thou  knowest  Lykon,  the  fisherman,  who  brought  the 
news  of  thy  capture,  has  summoned  us  for  counsel,  help,  and 
hope  ;  and  if  the  men  of  the  coast  join  with  our  friends  within 
Massilia,  thy  child  may  yet  be  rescued.  See,  here  comes 
Lykon  ;  and  with  him  those  who  look  like  friends. 

Enter  Lykon,  surrounded  and  folloiued  by  Women  and 
Fishermen. 

Lyk.  Where  is  Myron  ?  which  is  he  ?  which  is  the  brave 
girl's  father  ? 

Myr.  Here,  here.  And  will  you  help  us?  will  you  save 
my  child  ? 

Fish.  Ay,  ay,  we'll  do  our  best. 

Lyk.  Though  ourselves  natives  of  the  soil,  we  hate  the 
Alemanni,  and  respect  the  Greeks.  Besides,  it  would  disgrace 
Massilia,  and  Greece  itself,  should  such  a  pious  daughter  and 
brave  maid  be  lost.  All  that  we  can  we'll  give. 
Women.  Yes,  yes — our  ornaments,  our  prayers 
Myr.  Bless  you  !  the  gods  repay  you  !  But  we  must  not 
lose  a  day,  as  the  wild  people  will  soon  return  further  into 
the  mountains,  and  my  child  will  be  dragged  to  slavery  or 
death. 

Lyk.  We  will  disperse  through  the  villages,  and  rouse  the 
young — ay,  and  the  old — to  the  rescue.    You,  Adrastus,  to 


42 


INGOMAR. 


the  right — I  to  the  left.    Meanwhile  you,  Myron,  and  Elphc 
nor,  seek  the  house  of  the  old  Khesus ;  he  is  rich,  and  'had 
promised  aid.     Await  my  coming  there.     And  now,  my  % 
friends,  away,  away.  [Exeunt fishermen,  women,  fyc. 

Myr.  My  child,  my  child  !  shall  I  again  behold  thee  ?  did 
not  age  stiffen  my  limbs,  I  would  myself  

Elp.  Come,  come,  let  us  to  the  house  of  the  wealthy  Rhesus. 

]Exeunt.  l. 

Parthenia  and  Ingomail  appear  on  the  cliff',  l. 

Ing.  Here,  here.  Parthenia,  this  way — by  this  path. 

Par.  No,  yonder  is  the  way — down  there. 

Ing.  Hold,  hold  !  that  is  to  danger — see  you  not  1 
This  way — give  me  thy  hand. 

[  They  descend  the  path  on  to  the  stage. 
When  wilt  thou  trust  me  1 
Hast  thou  forgotten  yesterday,  the  moor 
Where,  following  thine  own  will,  the  ground  gave  way 
Beneath  thy  feet,  and  if  I  had  not  then 
From  off  my  arm  thrown  my  broad  shield,  whose  face 
Upheld  thy  failing  steps — 

Par.  I  should  have  sunk  ! 

Ing.  And  I  with  thee. 

Par.  I  think  thou  wouldst !    Yes.  yes, 
I  was  preserved  from  death,  and  by  thine  arms  ; 
Thy  shield  lies  in  the  morass — and  last  night,  too, 
Under  the  bank,  whose  turf  and  moss  afforded 
But  scanty  firing,  thou  didst  break  thy  spear, 
And  with  its  fragments  make  a  cheerful  blaze, 
To  warm  and  comfort  me.    Oh.  thou  true  guide  ! 

Ing.  Then  come — this  way. 

Par.  It  seems  as  if  that  path  

Ing.  Again  !  Why,  look,  the  wood  is  ended  here, 
And  the  mountain  grows  more  level. 

Par.  Ah  !  thou  art  right — the  forest  spreads  behind  us  i 
It  seems  to  me  I  ought  to  know  this  place. 
Was  it  not  here  that,  when  I  left  my  home 
To  seek  my  father,  on  my  knees  I  prayed 
'The  gods  for  courage,  strength,  and  victory  ? 

Ing.  Ah !  say  not  so.    Far,  far  from  here,  I'd  have 
Thy  home. 


INGOMAR. 


43 


Par.  Yes,  here  it  was. 
[She  turns  to  the  background  and  recognizes  Masnlia 
Ah  !  and  behold,  there  rolls  the  sea  ; 
And  yonder,  shining  in  the  purple  light, 
Appears  Artemis'  temple.    Oh,  Massilia  ! 
My  home,  my  horns  !  again  I  throw  myself  [Kneeling. 
Upon  the  earth,  with  thanks,  with  gratitude. 
Immortal  gods,  who  have  watched  my  lonely  path, 
The  work  of  love  is  done,  and  safely  back 
You  bring  me  home  again.    Oh,  thanks  and  praise  ! 

Ing.  (Aside.)  Would  that  I  lay  beside  my  shield  in  the 
morass. 

Par.  [Rising  and  coming  forward,  accomjianied  by  In* 
gomar. 

My  father,  mother,  I  shall  see  them  again  ; 
Weeping  with  joy  shall  sink  into  their  arms, 
And  kiss  the  falling  tears  from  their  pale  cheeks. 
Oh  !  be  saluted  by  me.  my  native  city  ! 
See  how  the  evening  light  plays  on  each  column. 
Each  wall,  and  tower,  like  the  smile  of  a  god. 
Look,  Ingomar,  is  it  not  glorious  ? 
What  ails  thee  ?  why  art  thou  now  grown  sulky 
Like  a  vexed  child,  when  joy  lends  my  soul  wings  t 
Didst  thou  endure  with  me  the  burning  sun, 
The  frost  of  night,  and  the  rough  path,  ana  now 
Wilt  not  rejoice — now  that  our  toil  is  over  ? 

Ing  I — I  rejoice  % 
In  the  dark  forest,  the  bleak  wilderness, 
Alone  with  thee,  the  heavens  above,  around  us 
Loneliness  and  deep  silence,  there — yes,  there 
Where  fear  and  danger  pressed  thee  to  my  aid 
Did  I  rejoice  ;  I  was  thy  world.    But  here. 
Where  these  accursed  walls  cast  their  cold  shades, 
To  tear  our  souls  asunder — here  

Par.    Ah  me  ! 
Yes.  I  remember — here  we  part,    And  yet 
Not  here — come  with  me  to  the  city. 

Ing.  I  'l 

Yonder,  with  polished  Greeks,  caged  in  dark  walls  1 
I,  the  barbarian,  the  free  man  ?    No,  yonder 
Thy  pathway  lies — this  to  my  mountain  home. 
Oh   would  that  I  had  never  seen  thee,  girl  1 


44 


INGOMAR. 


Enough---farewell !  [Get  tg 

Par.  No.  stay  ;  thou  shalt  not  go 
Without  one  gift,  that  in  some  distant  time 
May  call  again  my  image  to  thy  memory. 
Take  this.  \ Offers  him  a  dagger. 

Ing.  Thy  dagger !  is  it  to  remind  me 
How  once  my  violence  armed  thine  own  hand  with  it 
Agaiust  thyself? 

Par.  No:  to  remind  thee  how 
Two  days  and  nights,  alone,  through  moor,  and  wood, 
And  briery  thicket,  thou  didst  still  protect  me, 
Guard  me,  and  guide  without  my  needing  once 
To  touch  its  hilt.     OF  this  let  it  remind  thee. 
And  so,  (hesitating.)  farewell  ! 

Ing.  No,  no  !  I  cannot,  will  not — 
Oh,  do  not  leave  me  ;  be  my  own.  Parthenia; 
Oh,  be  my  wife  !  I  am  chief  among  my  people  ; 
Plenty  dwells  in  my  tent  at  home  ;  fear  not 
That  aught  of  our  rough  manners  shall  offend  thee; 
Follow  thy  native  customs  there  as  freely 
As  I.    Thou  shalt  be  mistress  of  thyself, 
Of  all,  our  queen  !    Oh,  come  then — I  will  build 
A  home  for  thee  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees. 
Before  us,  a  rich  meadow  with  its  herds, 
Beside,  a  stream,  around  all  green  and  still. 
While  the  soft  evening  air  breathes  through  the  open  door. 
And  melts  our  hearts  to  love  and  happiness  : 
Say  yes — say  yes  —and  come  where  joy  and  blisq 
Shall  ever  reign 

Par.  Ah  me  ! 

Ing.  Why  dost  thou  droop  thine  eyes  ?  why  art  thou 
silent  'I 

Thou  canst  not  doubt  me — thou  thyself  didst  tell  me, 

True  love  was  gentle,  meek,  unselfish,  tender. 

By  yonder  heaven,  such  will  I  be  to  thee. 

Oh,  I  will  hold  thee  with  as  tender  bonds 

As  thine  own  hands  the  wreath  thou  weavest ;  will  see 

Fach  wish  told  in  thine  eyes,  ere  thou  hast  thought  it  J 

Whatever  lives  in  earth,  in  sea,  in  air, 

Shall  minister  to  thy  desires.    Rich  shalt  thou  be, 

Honored,  and  happy.    Oh,  then,  doubt  no  more ! 

Be  mine-  -be  mine,  and  speak  no  more  of  parting; 


INGOMAR. 


46 


Par.  Hush — hush  this  3yren  song  ' 
Iftg,  Thou  wilt  not  ? 
Par.  Listen. 

Ing.  Oh,  thou  believest  me  not — diou  hatest  mo  . 

Par.  No — T  respect — honor — 

Ing.  {Gloomily.)    But  canst  not  love. 

Par.  My  parents — Think,  can  I  desert  their  age? 
Forget  long  years  of  love  and  care — resign 
The  worship  of  the  gods— the  quiet  customs 
Of  my  own  home,  to  follow,  among  strangers, 
My  country's  foe  ? 

big.  I  know  it— thou  despisest  me. 

Par.  No,  by  my  life  !  I  hold  thee  for  most  noble, 
Most  good !  a  bright  and  glorious  star,  but  shadowed 
By  a  light  cloud— a  cup  of  ruby  wine, 
With  the  wreath  only  wanting.    Wert  thou  a  Greek; 
Were  right,  law,  order,  not  unknown  to  thee  ; 
Were  violence  not  thy  god,  the  sword  thy  judge  ; 
Wert  thou  not  a 

Ing.  Why  pause  1  Yes,  speak  it . 
Barbarian  !  that  am  I  called  -a  cattle-stealer— 
Yes,  I  remember  well !  'twas  thine  own  word ; 
A  desolator— an  assassin  ! 

Par.  Ingomar  ! 

Ing.  I  see  it  all.    There  is  a  gulf  indeed 
Between  us.  and  thou  art  ashamed  of  me. 
Thou  fearest  the  jeer  of  thy  refined  companions  : 
The  polished  Greeks  would  mock  at  the  rough  savage 
Thou  art  right :  I  should  but  shame—disgrace  thee. 
Yes,  thou  art  right  ;  farewell. 

Par.  Oh,  leave  me  not  in  anger. 

Ing.  In  anger!  Oh,  Parthenia,  couldst thou 

But  see  this  heart !  I — I  No  more — farewell  ! 

[Rushes  cut 

Par.  Ingomar  !  stay,  hear  me  !    He  heeds  me  not  j 
He  flies  up  the  steep  cliff;  he  is  gone,  and  I 
Shall  never  see  him  more  !    Why,  how  is  this  ? 
What  sudden  change  has  come  upon  the  world  % 
How  green,  how  bright,  was  all  before  1  and  now 
How  dim  and  dark  the  twilight  grows  !    How  faded 
The  grass,  how  dry  the  leaves  !    It  seems  to  me 
As  if  the  young  spring  were  about  to  die.  {"  Weeps, 


4G 


INGOMAR. 


What !  tears  ?    I  must  not  weep  ;  no,  no  I  must  not. 
Rouse  thee,  Parthenia,  thou  hast  duties.  Think, 
Thy  home  awaits  thee — parents,  friends,  companions. 
Ob,  Ingomar  !  whom  shall  I  find  there  like  to  thee  ? 
Thou  good,  thou  generous  one  !    Lost — lost !       [  Weeps, 

Ingomar  re  enters,  and  slowly  approaches. 

Ing.  Parthenia ! 

Par.  Ah  !  come  back  again  ! 

Ing.  I  am  :  I  cannot,  will  not  leave  thee. 
I  will  go  with  thee  to  the  city  ;  I — 
I  will  become  a  Greek  ! 

Par.  How  sayest  thou  ? 

Ing.  Thou  dost  not  despise  me,  Parthenia — no, 
Thou  art  not  ashamed  of  me,  but  only  of 
My  nation,  my  rough  ways  ;  there's  remedy 
For  that — It  can  be  mended.    Though  [  am 
No  Greek,  yet  I  am  a  man,  for  'tis  the  soul 
That  makes  the  man  and  not  his  outward  seeming; 
My  shield  and  spear  are  left  in  the  morass. 
So  will  I  leave  my  nation,  manners,  all, 
To  follow  thee.    In  yonder  town,  for  thee 
I  will  become  a  Greek.    And  now  I've  said  it, 
I  am  strong  and  well  again. 

Par.  Thoul't  follow  me  ? 

Ing.  I  know  I've  much  to  learn,  but  thou  wilt  teach  me, 
And  that  will  make  all  easy.    When  'tis  done, 
Thoul't  love  me  then  !  thou  wilt — I  feel  it  here — 
Ay,  like  a  sunbeam  in  my  heart  it  glows  ; 
It  shouts  like  the  loud  triumph  of  a  conqueror  : 
Like  the  voice  of  the  high  gods,  it  penetrates 
My  soul :  thoul't  love  me  then  !  thoul't  love  me  then  i 

Par.  (Aside.)    If  not,  oh  heaven  !  whom  can  I  ever  love  » 
Thoul't  follow  me  to  Massilia.    But,  unknown, 
Where  wilt  thou  find  a  host  to  give  thee  shelter? 

Ing.  A  host?    The  first  that  comes  across  my  path 
I'll  ask  for  salt  and  fire.    What  needs  there  more  ? 
And  see,  already  two  approach,  who  look    [Looking  oJf%  n. 
Like  Greeks.    Them  will  I  

Par.  Ah  !  'tis  he — 'tis  he— my  father  !       [Rushes  out. 


INGOMAR. 


47 


Ing,  Her  father  !  the  gods  smile  upon  rae;theii, 
And  lead  him  here  as  my  appointed  friend. 

Re-enter  P-arthenia,  with  Myron  and  Elphenor. 

Myr.  My  darling  child  restored  to  me  !    Oh,  let  me 

Bless  the  brave  man  who   [Ingomar  turns. 

Ah  !  what  do  I  see  1 

Eiphenor — help  !    The  Alemanni — fly  ! 

Par.  Fear  not;  'twas  he  himself,  'twas  Ingomar, 
Who  gave  thy  child  her  freedom,  and  who  now 
Brings  her  in  safety  to  thine  arms  again. 

Myr.  What  sayest  thou  ? — he  '?  and  he  came  alone  ? 

Par.  He  comes  a  friend,  a  suppliant  to  thee ; 
And  oh  !  be  kind  to  him,  as  he  has  been 
To  me.    Hear  him,  my  father  ;     [Leads  Ingomar  to  him. 
And  now,  Elphenor, 
My  mother — tell  me  of  her. 

Myr.  (Aside  )  He  is  really  come  alone  !  Then  I  suppose 
All's  safe.    (Hesitatingly  to  Ingomar.)    I  thank  thee — thou 

art  welcome — very  ! 
I  did  not  think  to  see  you  again  so  soon— 
You  are  come  about  the  ransom. 

Ing.  Bah  ! 

Myr.  Do  not  be  angry  ;  I  have  not  got  it  yet ; 
But  a  few  drachmas,  but  I'll  give  you  those. 

Ing.  Old  man,  your  ransom's  paid :  I  bought  it,  with 
Your  child's  release,  at  the  cost  of  all  I  owned  ; 
I  give  you  both. 

Myr.  (Astonished )    You  ! 

Ing.  Now  I  ask  your  friendship,  and  come  to  live  with  you. 

Myr.  (Staggering  )    To  live  with  me  !    You !  one  of  tho 
Alemanni. 

Ing.  Well,  I  have  been 
Tour  enemy,  I  own  it ! — made  you  my  prisoner, 
True  ! — treated  you  as  my  slave,  agreed  ! — but  yet 
t  have  done  you  service,  too.  and  come  in  peace. 
Let  all  be  blotted  out ! — There  is  my  hand — 
Accept  it,  and  you'll  find  me,  perhaps,  more  true 
As  friend,  than  enemy.    Do  you  fear  to  take  it  % 

Myr.  Fear  1  n-n-no.    Greeks  never  fear  ;— 
But  you  are  quite  sure  you  have  come  alone  1 
No :  I  don't  fear  you,  but  the  citizens — 


49 


INGOMAR. 


If  they  

Ing.  Tell  them  that  Inge-mar  comes  singU 
Into  the  midst  of  them,  to  ask  a  home. 
If  any  bear  him  malice  for  past  wrongs, 
Let  them  stand  forth.    Say  Ingomar  is  here, 
To  answer  one  and  all. 

Myr.  Merciful  powers,  he'd  challenge  the  whole  city ! 

Ing.  I  have  little  thought  for  them.    But  thou,  old  mas. 
I'd  have  thee  be  my  friend — ay,  more — my  father. 
Give  me  thy  hand  as  to  thy  son. 

[Myron  reluctantly  does  so. 

That's  well. 

Now  take  me  to  thy  roof,  and  teach  me  thy  customs  ; 
Teach  me  among  the  Greeks  a  Greek  to  be. 

Myr.  (Alarmedly  )    I  take  thee  to  my  home  ! 

Ing.  It  shall  be  sacred 
As  the  temple  of  a  god. 

Myr.  Thou  learn  to  be  a  Greek  !  and  learn  from  me,  too  1 
I — I — I  know  I'm  bound  to  you  for  much, 
For  many  thanks  :  but  a  poor  man  am  I  ; 
And  shouldst  thou  be  my  guest,  thou  needs  must  share 
Poverty  with  us,  weariness  and  care, 
Complying  with  our  household  customs. 

big.  Poverty  ! 
I  have  given  up  my  race  and  home.    Then  tell  me, 
Can  I  be  poorer?    Weariness  and  care  ! 
Can  these  be  where  Parthenia  dwells  ?    Out,  out, 
Old  man  !  you  do  but  mock  me  :  tell  me,  rather, 
What  must  I  do  ? 

Myr.  {Laughing.)    Why.  first  strip  off  thy  skin. 

Ing.  My  skin  !  Oh,  this?  {Looking  at  the  shin  throum 
over  his  shoulder .)    Ha  !  ha  !    Well,  be  it  so. 

Myr  And  then  thou  must  cut  short  thy  hair  and  beard, 

Ing.  My  hair  and  beard  !  That  will  I  never !  they 
Are  my  proud  race's  mark  of  free  descent, 
Growing  freely  with  the  free. 

[Turning,  and  his  eyes  meeting  tl~ose  of  Parthenia. 
And  yet — well,  well, 
I  will  cut  them  off. 

Myr.  (Aside.)  How  wondrous  tame  he  grows 
He  that  was  wild  as  an  unbroken  horse. 
Then  I  have  fields  up  yonder,  on  the  hills  ; 


INGOMAR. 


49 


A  "vineyard  also  ;  work  must  there  be  done,  too, 
With  plough  and  harrow  ;  and  thou  

Ing   What  !  guide  the  plough  and  harrow  ! 
Root  up  the  earth  like  ants  and  moles  !    Slaves  ocly 
Guide  ploughs  ;  and  wilt  thou  make  of  me  a  slave? 
By  the  loud  thunder  

Myr.  Be  calm.  calm.    Remember, 'twas  thyself 
Did  wish  to  be  a  Greek,  and  we  are  poor. 
We  all  must  work  —not  1  alone  :  my  wife  ; 
Parthenia.  too— 

Irtg.    Parthenia,  didst  thou  say  ? 
Parthenia  labor  ? 

Myr.  Ay.  why  not  ?    She,  too,  must  

Ing.  She?  Parthenia?    No,  that  shall  she  never  ! 
I'll  work  for  her  at  any  toil  you  will  , 
The  plough,  the  harrow,  anything.    What  more  ? 

Myr.  And  then,  too,  thou  must  help  me  at  my  forge, 
And  learn  how  to  make  arms. 

Ing.  Ay,  by  my  life, 
That  will  I  joyfully  !  that  must  be  glorious  ! 
That's  spending  strength  on  strength;  the  hammer  thrashing 
The  shrieking  steel,  that  writhes  to  every  blow  ! 
Ay,  that  is  brave,  that's  noble  !    By  my  life, 
Making  good  swords  must  almost  be  as  pleasant 
As  wielding  them. 

Myr.  Stay — stay  !  thou  must  not  wield  them: 
We  are  a  quiet  people,  and  love  peace 
And  therefore  thou  must  give  up  thy  sword. 

Ing.  My  sword ! 

Myr.  It  is  forbidden,  under  heavy  penalties, 
Eor  strangers  to  go  armed  into  Massilia. 
I  will  take  care  of  it  for  thee.    Give  it  to  me. 

Ing.  My  father's  sword  !  that  which  has  given  mo 
Defense  and  victory  !    Give  me  up  my  sword  ! 
Thou  art  playing  with  my  softness,  to  insult  me. 

Myr.  {Timidly.)  Parthenia. 

Ing.  Give  thee  this  sword  ?  sooner  my  blood — my  life  t 
My  sword's  myself — the  sword  and  man  are  one. 
Bid  any  come  and  take  it,  if  he  dare.  [Dr diving  it. 

Par.  (Approac/ies,  smiling.)    Ingoinar,  thou  wilt  give 
thy  sword  to  me. 
Dost  thou  remember  how  I  carried  it 


5C 


INGOMAR. 


From  the  mountain?    You  will  trust  mo  with  it  now 

[He  lets  her  gently  disengage  it  from  his  'hand. 
Father,  haste  on,  before.    T  long  to  embrace 
My  mother.    Go.  prepare  her — we  will  follow  thee. 

Myr.  Wonderful !  Elphenor.  go  thank  the  fisl  errncn. 
And  tell  them  all.    Give  up  his  sword  !  oh,  marvel ! 

[Exit,  r. 

Par.  [Following  Myron,  but  turning  to  Ingomar. 
Why  dost  thou  linger.  Ingomar? 

big.  {Confused)  Who's  he- 
Who  spoke  of  Ingomar?  dost  thou  mean  me? 
Am  I.  then.  Ingomar  ?    My  senses  whirl; 
Beneath  my  feet  the  solid  earth  seems  falling, 
I  am  a  child — a  fool — I  will  not !    Stay  ! 
Give  me  my  sword  again  ! 

Par.  (Smiling  and  beckoning.)    Come,  Ingomar! 

[Exit  it. 

big.  {After  a  struggle.)    Parthenia  !     [Ruslies  out,  k. 
end  or  act 


ACT  V. 

Scene. — Same  as  in  Act  I. 

Enter  Elphenor,  from  Myron's  house,  l. 

Elp.  (Calling)  Come,  what  delays  thee,  Myron ?  they 
wait  for  thee. 

Myr.  (Appearing  on-  the  stejjs  in  tlie  act  of  arranging  his 
dress.)  I  will  be  ready  in  an  instant.  I  but  take  off  my 
Booty,  working  coat,  fit  to  appear  before  the  council.  Actca, 
quick — my  girdle,  and  my  cloak. 

Enter  Actea,  followed  by  Pjlydor,  l. 

Act  (Coming  forward  with  Myron 's  girdle  in  her  hand.) 
What  can  they  want  with  )0u  at  the  council? 

Pol.  (Asidi,  remaining  in  background)  Want  Myron  at 
the  council !  I'll  stay  and  listen  ;  I  may  gain  some  profit 
out  of  it. 


INGOMAR. 


51 


Myr.  What  do  they  want  me  for  'I  No  doubt,  an  order 
for  a  large  supply  of  arms.  They  find  that  none  can  make  so 
well  as  Myron,  especially  now  Ingomar  assists  me. 

Elp.  Quick — see,  another  messenger. 

'Enter  Neocles,  l. 

Neo.  Myron,  the  Timarch  is  impatient ;  all  is  confusion  at 
the  council. 

Myr.  Confusion  ?    What  is  it  then  ? 

Neo.  The  gates  are  closed,  the  guards  are  doubled 

Act  What  is  the  matter  1 

Neo.  How,  have  you  not  heard  ?  We  are  surrounded  by 
the  Alemanni ;  the  hills  about  the  city  swarm  with  them  j 
and  loudly  at  the  council  they  call  for  Myron. 

Act.  Ye  gods,  'tis  as  I  feared,  then ;  I  said  he  was  a  spy, 
a  traitor. 

Pol.  {Chuckling.)  Aha  !  I  taught  her  that ! 
Myr.  A  traitor  saidst  thou,  who  1 

Act.  'Twas  not  for  nothing  that  the  flames  cackled  when  he 
entered  our  house,  and  that  the  raven  croaked ;  they  warned 
us,  yet  in  vain. 

Neo.  Whom  do  you  mean  ?    Who  is  a  spy,  a  traitor  1 

Enter  Parthenia,  from  house. 

Act.  Who?  who  but  Ingomar  'I 
Par.  Who  dares  call  Ingomar  a  spy  ? 
Act.  I.  thy  mother. 

Myr.  Hold  your  tongue,  you  are  a  fool. 

Act.  Polydor  says  it,  too. 

Myr.  Polydor  is  another  fool,  then. 

Pol  {Behind.)  Is  he,  indeed?  I'll  make  you  treat  him, 
though,  with  more  respect  ere  long  ! 

Myr.  It  is  the  weak  alone  are  traitors,  and  Ingomar  is  a 
very  Hercules  ;  any  one  who  saw  him  at  the  plough,  the 
anvil,  or  the  games,  would  need  no  more  to  swear  him  a  true 
man.  Why,  my  earnings  are  trebled  since  Ingomar  worked 
with  me.  (  Taking  the  girdle  from  Actea,  and  completing  his 
toilet  by  putting  it  on.)  There — now  I  am  ready,  be  not 
alarmed.  No  doubt,  the  council  summon  me  for  my  opinion. 
I  know  the  Alemanni — I  have  been  among  them,  and  1  fear 
them  not — I've  proved  that.    Come,  come. 

[Exit,  followed  by  Neocles,  i* 


52 


INGOMAR. 


Act.  The  foe  at  our  gates  !  he  summoned  to  the  council. 
If  they  should,  instead  of  asking  his  opiuion,  bring  him  for 
his  folly  to  a  reckoning,  perhaps  to  punishment  ?- 

Par.  Fear  not,  mother  :  the  fathers  knew  of  Ingomar  and 
$ave  permission  to  receive  him. 

Act.  He  has  brought  mischief  on  our  house. 

Par.  Mother,  he  brought  thy  child  in  safety  back  there. 

Act.  Well,  well:  and  so  he  did.  But  Polydor  says 
truly  

Par  Mother,  mother,  why  will  you  give  your  ear  to  that 

malicious  wretch  ? 

Pol.  (Still  behind)  That's  me! 

Par.  Why  suffer  him  to  turn  your  heart  against  the 

noblest  

Act.  Bah  !  I  tell  you,  Polydor  

Par.  i  will  not  hear  his  name  !  Why  will  ho  still  pursue 
me  ?  why  you  still  urge  for  him  1  I  tell  you,  mother,  were 
beggary  and  death  set  for  my  choice.  I  would  embrace  them 
sooner  than  that  detested  man  ! 

Pol  {Still  behind.)  You  would?  you  shall,  then!  I'll 
bring  down  that  proud  spirit,  though  it  should  cost  me  half 
my  means. 

Act.  But,  child,  he  threatens  us — 

Par.  He  threatens  !  the  cold  dastard — let  him  !  I  spurn 
his  threats  as  I  do  him. 

Pol.  I'll  hear  no  more :  I'll  go  at  once  and  do  it,  cost  me 
what  it  may  ! 

Par.  He  dares  to  threaten  ! 

Pol.  (Shaking  his  fist)  Tremble!  [Exit,  l. 

Act.  Hush  !  if  he  should  hear  you.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know 
why  you  hate  him  so.  At  least,  he  never  drew  his  sword  on 
you  as  Ingomar  once  did ;  he  never  took  your  father  for  a 

slave,  as  Ingomar  0,  how  I  hated  him  as  soon  as  I  set  my 

eyes  upon  him.  His  very  look,  and  that  long  hair,  and  his 
rough  and  wiry  beard.    Ugh  !  he  made  my  heart  sick ! 

Par.  Yet  he  now  wears  both  short,  and  like  a  Greek 

Act.  The  very  children  in  the  street  called  after  him— • 
Faun  and  Satyr. 

Par.  But  thou  knowest  he  goes  now,  clad  like  others. 

Act.  Ay  !  Greek  may  J>e  his  coat  and  mantle  ;  but.  his 
bearing,  walk,  and  voice — the  fixed  disdain  in  his  mien,  and 
look,  and  speech,  these  all  are  the  barbarian's  still,  and  will 
remain  so.    Even  his  forest  nature  clings  to  him. 


INGOMAR. 


Par.  Why  should  it  not,  when  freedom,  courage,  and 
strength,  like  Lis  own  forests,  animate  his  soul  ? 

Act.  The  rough  strength  of  a  bear  !  Did  not  he  yesterday 
at  the  games,  throw  his  adversary  right  out  of  the  circle  ;  did 
he  not  fling  the  quoit  so  far,  he  nearly  struck  the  Timarch. 

Par.  Did  he  not,  too,  destroy  the  wolf  that  had  so  long 
ravaged  our  fields  ?  and  in  the  harbor,  when  Lysippus'  boat 
struggled  with  the  storm,  who  sprang  into  the  boiling  waves 
and  dragged  him  safe  to  shore,  but  Ingomar  %  and  who  but  he 
relieves  from  the  forge  and  the  plough  my  gray  haired  father  ? 

Act.  Well,  well,  perhaps  he  does.  He  may  have  some 
good  in  him  ;  but  he  pays  no  respect  to  me:  and  I  say  again 
he  is  a  spy,  a  traitor,  and  so  I'll  tell  him  to  his  face.  Where 
is  he  ?    {Calls.)  Ingomar! 

Par.  Stay,  mother,  stay  !  what  would  you  do?  Respect, 
at  least,  the  rights  of  a  guest 

Act.  {Calling  again.']  What,  Ingomar,  I  say  !  Yes,  thou 
shalt  see  how  he  will  shrink  and  tremble,  when  I  tell  him 
that  I  know  him, — Ingomar  ! 

Par.  Mother  !  how  little  dost  thou  know  of  that  pure  soul, 
that  noble  heart. 

Enter  Ingomar,  from  back  of  stage,  dressed  in  the  costume  of 
a  Greek  peasant. 

Xng.  Who  called  me  ? 

Act,  So  thou  art  come  at  last.    Thrice  must  I  call  ? 
Ing,  I  was  preparing  for  the  evening  sports,  and  singing. 
Act.  Singing  !    Yes,  for  joy  to  meet  our  friends  again. 
Ing.  What  friend-s  1 

Act.  Oh,  you  don't  know,  not  you,  that  the  Alemanni  sur- 
round the  city. 

Ing,  Indeed  !  They  come  this  way,  then,  in  their  incursions 
on  the  Allobrogi? 

Act.  The  Allobrogi !  oh,  how  innocent  I  But  be  their 
road,  sir,  where  it  may,  there  are  some  people  think,  hint — 
ay,  and  maintain,  their  way  and  yours  are  one. 

Ing.  Their  way  and  mine  ! 

Act.  Ay  ;  who  eyen  say  that  you  have  introduced  yourself 
here,  only  to  open  doors  and  gates  to  them. 
Ing.  [Excited.}  I — who  says  that  ? 

Act.  I  say  so,  to  thy  face — that  thou  art  a  spy,  a  traitor— 
that  thou  art — 


54 


INGOMAR. 


lng.  [Rushes  up  to  her.]  Woman!  [Then  cliecks  himself } 
But  no,  no,  no,  thou  art  Parthenia's  mother — I  will  not 
aDswer  thee.  [Abruptly  walks  into  the  house. 

Act.  Look,  he  derides  my  anger.  He  does  not  think  it 
worth  his  trouble  to  justify  himself  to  me  !  he  dares  

Par.  [Goes  up  to  the  house  and  calls.]    Ingomar  ! 

Act.  Why  do  you  call  him  1    Shall  he  again  affront  me  1 

Par.  No.  he  shall  answer. 

Act.  I  will  have  no  answer — you'll  drive  me  mad,  among 
you !  There  is  thy  father — danger  perhaps  threatens  his 
very  life  ;  I'll  follow  him  to  the  council;  thou  mayest  stay 
and  ask  for  answers  from  this  proud  barbarian,  and  thou 
mayst  trust  him,  too  ;  but,  for  me.  I  know  him  !  and  mo  he 
never  shall  deceive.  [Exit)  l. 

Par.  [  Walks  restlessly  up  and  down  ] 
She  is  wrong. 

Very  wrong,  and  he  bears  all  the  blame. 
Poor  Ingomar ! 

[Turns  and  sees  Ingomar  slowly  descending  the  steps. 
— she  beckons  him. 
Come  here.    Dost  think 

Thou  hast  treated  with  respect  my  mother,  Myron's  wife,  \ 
To  turn  thy  back  on  her,  and  walk  away 
"Without  an  answer  1 

lng,  Didst  thou  not  bid  me,  when  thy  mother  might, 
As  age  will  do,  find  fault  without  a  cause, 
I  should  be  silent  then,  and  go  away  ? 
She  did  find  fault  with  me  without  a  cause, 
So  I  said  nothing,  and  I  went  away. 

Par.  But  couldst  thou  not  look  gentle  and  speak  thus— 
1  No,  thou  art  wrong, — I  am  no  spy,  no  traitor.' 
But  thou  instead,  must  fly  into  a  rage, 
And  leave  me  to  bear  all  the  pain. 

lng.  I  am  sorry. 

Par.  I  cannot  make  you  heed  my  words,  and  never 
lng.  Not  heed  thy  words  !  I  think  of  nothing  elge, 

Laboring  or  resting,  at  the  plough,  the  anvil, 

In  very  sleep,  still  I  repeat  your  lessons, 

But  all  in  vain  !    Oh,  I  shall  never  learn  ; 

And  thou  wilt  never  love  me  ' 
Par.  Nay,  thou  hast 

Learned  much  already,  and — 


INGOM 


Ing.  Oh,  my  wild  woods, 
My  mountain  home  !    There  the  heart  speaks  ita  will, 
And  the  free  act  is  open  as  the  thought. 
'Tis  thus  I  have  grown  up — I  cannot  change  it. 
What  moves  me. — love  or  hate,  pleasure  or  pain, — 
Breaks  from  my  lips,  shows  in  my  looks,  and  sparkles 
Prom  out  my  eyes ;  I  must  be  what  I  am, 
I  can  be  nothing  else  ! 

Par.  Nor  shalt  thou  be  ! 
I  would  not  have  thee  other  than  thou  art — 
Honest,  and  pure,  and  true. 
Yet  even  the  candor  of  a  noble  soul 
Requires  restriction.    See,  thou  hast  learned  much ; 
Thou  honorest  law  and  order — thou  hast  left 
The  bloody  service  of  thy  mountain  gods, 
For  the  pure  worship  of  my  people.  See, 
Thou  art  a  Greek  already  in  thy  heart ; 

Yet  be  more  gentle,  more  but  that  will  come. 

The  sculptor,  who,  from  out  of  the  rough  stone, 
Would  call  the  image  of  a  god  to  life, 
First  learns  to  smooth  the  coarse  unpolished  shell 
That  shrouds  it. 

Ing.  And  then,  after  I've  learned, 
When  I  am  more  what  thou  desirest,  Parthenia, 
Wilt  thou  then  

Par.  (Laughing.)  Stop,  thou  hast  not  learned  it  yet, 
And  wilt  not  soon. 

Ing.  Ah,  thus  it  ever  is  ! 
In  place  of  paying  the  poor  scholar's  zeal, 
Thou  dost  withdraw  the  goal  still  further  from  me. 
Thou  art  altered,  too — thou  once  didst  seek,  encourage  mo, 
Didst  tell  me  tales  and  sing  me  songs  ;  but  now 
Thou  art  distant,  cold.    Well;  well,  I  will  not  weary  thee, 
Content  if  I  can  gaze  into  thine  eyes, 
And  

Myr.  (Wit/wut.)  Parthenia — Parthenia! 
Par.  Hark  !  my  father. 

Enter  Myron,  l.,  followed  by  Actea. 

Myr.  Parthenia !  Ay — and  Ingomar,  where  is  he  ? 
Ing.  Here. 

Act.  Now;  what  is  it  ?    Will  you  never  tell  me  ? 


56 


INGOMAR. 


Myr.  Stop — give  m3  air,  let  me  breathe  first, — what  do 

you  think? 

Know  !  they  are  coming,  they  will  be  here  directly. 

Act,.  Who — the  enemy  ? 

Myr.  His  grace  the  Timarch  ! 

Act.  Ah  !  I  said  so — I  said 
That  Ingomar  would  bring  us  no  good  luck. 

Myr.  Then  you  talked  nonsense,  as  you  always  do. 
He  brings  us  glory,  consideration,  honor  ! 
But  here  they  are.    Now,  Ingomar,  dear  friend, 
Be  ready — I  go  to  greet  him. 

Act.  Consideration  !  honor  !  how  my  heart  beats  ! 
Like  a  forge  hammer. 

Enter  the  Timarch,  accompanied  by  attendants:    Myron  •*«• 
ceives  him  with  low  bows. 

Tim  Enough,  enough — Myron,  where  is  thy  guest, 
Thy  pupil? 

Myr.  Here,  illustrious  sir — 
Will  you  step  into  the  house  1 
Tim.  No,  call  him  hither. 

[Myron  beckons  Ingomar  forward,  and  he  advances 
toward  t/ie  Timarch. 
So,  friend,  thy  name  is  Ingomar. 
Ing.  Ay — as  thou  sayest. 

Myr.  [Aside,  to  Ingomar.)    Say,  1  your  grace.'  Dost  thou 
understand — '  your  grace.' 

Tim.  I  hear  thou  wouldst  become  a  Greek, 
Be  naturalized — Massilia's  citizen. 

Ing.  Such  is  my  wish. 

Tim.  Massilia  grants  thy  wish — 
A  house  within  her  walls  shall  be  assigned  thee  ; 
Added  to  which,  three  hydes  of  land,  with  the  freedom 
And  the  full  privileges  of  a  citizen, 

Ing.  To  me — this,  this  to  me  ! 

Par.  Ye  gods  ! 

Myr.  Dost  hear,  wife  ? 

Tim.  Nay,  more ; — thou  love&t  this  maid  :  thirty  ounces 

of  silver 

Shall  her  dower  be — she  shall  be  thine,  thy  wife. 

Ing.  Parthenia  ! 

Tim.  So  thou  prove  only  that  Massilia's  welfare 


INGOMAR. 


57 


Lies  at  thy  heart,  all  those  shall  then  he  thins, 
Say.  in  return  what  wilt  thou  do  % 

Ing.  What  do  ! 
\Vhat  will  I  not  do  ?    I  will  lift  the  world 
From  off  its  solid  centre,  drink  the  ocean, 
Tear  down  the  stars  from  heaven  !    I  am  but  mad- 
Yet  all  that  is  possible — ay,  or  impossible. 
I'll  do  for  bliss  like  this. 

Tim.  Thou  hast  heard  the  Alemanni  now 
Surround  the  city — they  come  against  us  to  

Ing.  No.  no,  you  err.    Against  the  Allobrogi 
This  expedition  moves,  not  against  you — 
Not  you. 

Tim.  Be  as  it  may,  we  hold  them  dangerous — 
Massilia  would  extirpate  them. 

[Draivs  Ingomar  a  little  aside. 

Thou  knowest  them : 

Thou  shalt  go  to  their  camp,  as  though  thou  earnest 

To  seek  thy  friends  and  hear  the  news  of  home  ; 

So  shalt  thou  well  observe  their  mode  of  war, 

The  approaches  of  their  camp,  their  watchword,  and 

The  arrangement  of  their  guard.    Return  in  the  evening, 

And  then  by  night  conduct  Massilia's  soldiers, 

And  lead  them  on  to  conquest. 

Ing.  (Furiously. )  Ah  !  [Parthenia  cliecks  him, 

Ti?n.  What  sayest  thou  ? 

Ing  Ensnare, 
Betray  my  countrymen  ! — deceive  the  men 
Who  trust  me — murder  them  in  their  sleep — 
The  men  who  speak  my  tongue,  who  were  my  brothers  ? 

Tim.  Think  of  the  reward — Parthenia,  honor,  riches. 

Ing.  Take  all  thy  offers  back  !  take  even  her, 
For  she  is  all  to  me !  my  heart,  my  soul, 
My  life  !    Yet  take  her,  too  :  for,  had  I  her, 
And  all  the  happiness  the  earth  could  give, 
It  were  despair,  shame,  misery,  and  death, 
To  purchase  her  by  baseness  such  as  this. 

Tim.  Dost  thou  not  wish  to  be  a  Greek? 

Ing.  I  did, 

For  then  I  did  not  know  that  Greeks  were  trait  jrs, 
I  said  farewell  to  mine  own  kin  and  nation — 
I  gave  up  all  to  make  my  home  with  you,— 


58 


INGOMAR. 


And  had  you  called  on  me  to  fight  for  you 

On  the  open  field  of  war,  I  would  have  stood 

faithfully  by  you  to  the  death  ;  but  {with  conitmfo.)  Grecian 

"Weapons  are  treachery,  cunning,  cowardice, — 

In  these  I  am  unpractised.    Go,  go,  go  ! 

We  do  not  understand  each  other — you  are  civilized, 

Refined,  and  I  but  a  barbarian  !    Go ! 

Tim.  Restrain  thy  bold  tongue — one  hour  for  decision 
"We  give  thee  yet.    Refuse,  and  thy  false  breath. 
No  longer  shall  contaminate  our  city. 
Choose,  then  !    And  thou.  Myron,  if  afterward 
Thou  dost  befriend  or  shelter  him.  thy  life 
Shall  answer  for  it !    Back  to  the  council. 

[Exeunt  Timarch  with  suite. 

Act.  Now,  who  was  right?  Where  is  the  honor, 
The  consideration,  that  this  Ingomar 
Was  to  have  brought  ?    He  brings  thy  head  in  danger. 

Myr.  No,  not,  not  my  head  ; 
I  will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  him. 
Away,  depart, — I  shut  my  door  against  thee  ; 
I  am  Massilia's  true  citizen. 
Go  into  the  house,  Parthenia. 

lng.  Myron. 

Myr.  Go,  go  in,  wife — in,  girl. 

[  Actea  and  Partlienia  go  into  the  house. 

Ing,  One  word. 

Myr.  Not  ODe  !  You  see  the  danger  you  have  brought  me. 
i  owe  thee  thanks ;  and,  had  I  two  heads,  willingly 
Would  I  loose  one  for  thee.    But  I  have  but  one  ; 
And  therefore,  go,  go,  go.    [In  a  loud  voice.)    I  am  a  true 
man, 

And  a  good  citizen — and  so,  farewell  ! 

[Exit  into  house,  shutting  the  door. 
Ing.  'Tis  past,  then  !   All  is  over,  all  is  lost. 
Never  will  she  be  mine     Never  again 
Shall  I  behold  her  face,  or  hear  her  voice. 
She  is  lost !  Why,  then,  delay?    Away,  away  ; 
And  let  them  close  tbeir  coward  gates  upon  me. 
I'll  die,  or  break  a  passage  through  their  spears.  [Going. 
» 

Enter  Parthexia,  who,  during  his  last  words  coi,ies  out  of  the 
house,  and  approaches  unperceived. 


11NTG0M  AR. 


59 


Par.  Ingomar  !  wilt  thou  go  ? 

Ing.  Dost  doubt  it  ? 

Par.  Whither? 

big.  Ask  me  not  whither ; 
There  are  on  earth  only  two  paths  for  me, 
One  to  heaven,  where  thou  art — and  where 
Thou  art  not.  all  is  there  a  barren  desert — 
That  path  is  mine.    Son  of  the  wilderness, 
I  bend  my  steps  again  towards  my  mother ; 
She  gave  me  truth  for  my  inheritance, 
And  I  will  keep  it,  though  my  heart  should  burgs* 

Par.  And  thou  wilt  go  ? 

Ing.  VVouldst  thou  desire  my  stay, 
To  be  dishonored  ?    Yet  thine  image  still 
Shall  never  leave  me — thou,  Parthenia — 
Farewell. 

Par.  Not  yet — not  yet. 

Ing.  Quick  death  is  easy, — 
He  who  dies  slowly  dies  a  thousand  times. 
{Then  abruptly.}  Farewell. 

Par.  Thy  sword — thou  hast  forgot  thy  sword  \ 
On  entering  here  thou  gavest  it  to  my  father. 

Ing.  I  want  it  not.    Hope  took  it  from  my  hand  ; 
And  now — now  

Par.  Yet  'tis  here.    Look,  I  return  it, 
Bright  as  when  first  thou  gavest  it  up.    [He goes  to  take,  it. 

Not  so : 
But  I  will  bear  it  for  thee. 

Ing.  Thou,  Parthenia ! 

Par.  I  carried  with  it  once  thy  spear  and  shield  , 
Then  why  not  thy  sword  ? 

Ing.  Oh,  then  But  let  that  pass — let  us  part  here. 

Par.  No,  Ingomar ;  I  will  bear  thy  sword  for  thee. 

Ing.  Where  ?  to  the  market  ? 

Par.  No,  further— to  the  gate  : 
Still  further — to  the  sea — beyond  the  sea — ■ 
Over  the  mountains — over  valleys,  floods — 
To  east  and  west.    Wherever  thy  path  leads, 
Wherever  thou  dost  bend  thy  wandering  steps, 
So  long  as  my  heart  beats,  as  my  pulse  throbs, 
So  long  I  will  go  with  thee ! 


60 


INGOMAR. 


Ing.  Thou.  Parthenia, 
Wilt  

Par.  Ay,  will  follow  thee  wherever  thou  goest/ 

[Drops  the  sward  and  embraces  him. 
Thy  way  shall  be  my  way — thy  fate  be  mine. 
Where  thou  dost  build  thy  house,  there,  too,  shall  be 
My  home  ;  the  language  that  sounds  on  thy  lips, 
That  will  I  speak  ;  what  pleases  thee  shall  be 
^7  j°y  i  and  what  afflicts  thee,  that  will  I 
Suffer,  too,  with  thee.    Thine  am  I,  and  nothing 
Shall  part  us  more  ! 

Ing.  Do  1  dream  ?    Thou  liest  on 
My  breast. — thou  lovest  me  ! — thou,  Massilia's  child, 
And  I  the  stranger,  the  barbarian  ! 

Par.  Oh,  speak  that  word  no  more  ;  for  what  are  we 
Compared  to  thee,  thou  good,  thou  noble  one  ! 
How  they  stood  shamed  before  thee  !  the  proud  Greeks : 
Before  thee  !  who  earnest  here  to  learn  our  laws, 
But  who  has  taught  to  them  that  holy  law 
Of  truth  and  honor,  which  the  gods  themselves 
Impressed  upon  thy  heart ! 

How  great,  how  glorious  thou  stoodest  before  me. 
When  thou  for  duty  gavest  up  more  than  life — 
The  hope  of  life  !    And,  oh,  how  shamed  I  feel 
That  I  presumed  to  teach  thee  !    Pardon  me  ! 
Forgive  me. 

Ing.  Parthenia  mine !  mine  ! 

Par.  Long  have  I  been  thine  ; 
Ay,  since  the  day  when  thou  didst  learn  to  weep  and  fear. 
When  from  thy  hand  dropped  the  uplifted  sword, 
Which  threatened  at  my  life.    Yes,  since  that  day 
I  loved  thee  ;  and  if  in  shame  I  tried  to  hide  it  from  thoo, 
I  only  loved  thee  more.    And  did  I  once 
With  foolish  tyranny  lay  on  the  trials, 
And  with  a  vain  superiority  presume 
Upon  thy  noble  nature  ?  let  me  pay 
The  ponalty  of  my  pride,  while  thus  in  love 
And  humbleness,  as  wife,  as  servant,  slave, 
I  sink  down  in  the  dust  before  thy  feet. 

[She  is  about  to  kneel,  when  Ingomar  checks  her,  ana 
takes  her  to  his  bosom. 

Ing  Before  my  feet !  my  slave  !    No,  as  two  stems 


INGOMAR 


61 


With  one  root  let  us  be, — springing,  twined  upwards 
Towards  the  vault  of  heaven ;  we  will  be — 

1  Two  souls  with  but  a  single  thought, 
Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one.' 

Enter  Myron  and  Actea,  from  house. 

Myr.  Ah  !  what  do  I  see  ?    Degenerate  girl, 
Into  the  house  with  thee  ! 

Par.  Not  without  Ingomar. 

Myr.  Have  you  not  heard  the  penalty  ? 
Begone  !  f  To  Ingomat. 

Ing.  Not  without  her.    She  is  mine,  and  mine  for  ever 

Enter  Polydor,  with  two  Greeks,  l. 

Pol.  Indeed — perhaps,  then,  you  will  pay  these  bonds  3 
Two  hundred  drachmas,  or  to  speak  more  closely, 
Two  hundred  and  thirteen. 

Ing.  What  means  this  man  ? 
Good  friend,  I  owe  thee  nought. 

Pol.  No,  I  confess 
I  have  no  claim  on  you — but  Myron,  there, 
And  he  shall  pay  me  every  drachma,  too. 
Ah !  ha ! 

Myr.  Sir  !  I  owe  you  nothing. 

Pol.  Two  hundred  and  thirteen  drachmas  every  one  t)  in*, 

Myr.  I  am  indeed  in  debt  some  such  amount 
To  various  citizens,  but  

Pol  All  to  me  ! 
Aha  !  I  have  bought  up  all  your  debts,  and  I  am  now 
Your  only  creditor;  and  I'll  be  paid,  too  ! 
Pay  me,  this  hour. 

Myr.  I  cannot. 

Pol.  Then  I  seize  you 
Here  for  my  slave — your  wife,  your  daughter,  too  ; 
All  for  my  slaves — aha  !    Now  you  may  mock 
And  gibe  at  Polydor !    You,  and  this  woman, 
I'll  sell  for  rubbish,  but  this  pretty  pert  one 
I'll  keep   [Ingomar  springs  on  him  and  seizes  him. 

Ing.  Dog !  hound  !  down  to  her  feet  and  ask  for  mercy  I 

Pol.  Help — citizens  ! 

Par.  Hold;  Ingomar  !    It  is  too  true,  it  is  the  law. 


62 


ING0M1R. 


Ing.  Law  !  to  make  you  his  slave  ! 
Par.  Alas  !  such  is  his  right — harm  him  not,  then. 
Ing.  She  bids  me  spare  thee,  or  I  had,  ere  this, 
Crushed  thee  beneath  my  heel ,  what  dost  thou  want  ? 
Pol.  Two  hundred  and  thirteen  drachmas — I'll  not  baU 
one. 

Ing.  But,  man,  they  have  it  not. 

Pol.  They  have  themselves. 
I'll  take  themselves — I  will  not  lose  my  money. 

Act.  Parthenia  shall  wed  thee. 

Pol.  I'll  not  have  her. 
Aha  !  I'll  have  my  money  or  my  slaves — 
So.  come. 

Ing.  Hold—  stay  !  thou  art  fixed  to  have  this? 

Pol.  Ay, 
Either  in  gold  or  fleshj 

Ing.  Will  nothing  move  thee  ? 

Pol.  My  money  or  my  slaves. 

Ing.  Wait  

Pol.  Not  one  moment. 
Come,  slaves  ! 

Ing.  Stay — you  are  fixed  to  have  the  worth 
Of  your  two  hundred  drachmas  ? 

Pol.  And  thirteen ! 
I'll  not  abate  a  piece. 

Ing.  Well,  I  will  promise  thee 
A  slave  worth  more  than  all  your  money. 

Pol.  Where? 

Ing.  Here  ! 

Pol.  Who? 

Ing.  Myself. 

Par.  Oh,  no,  no — heed  him  not — he's  mad! 
Ing.  Wert  thou  mad  when  thou  didst  give  up  thyself 
A  pledge  for  what  thou  lovedst?    Think  on  them. 

{Pointing  to  her  parents,  . 

Come,  hasten,  take  thy  slave  ! 

Pol.  Take  thee  !  a  firebrand  into  my  house  ! 

Ing.  Beware  !  lay  but  a  finger 
On  her  or  what  she  loves,  and  thou  shalt  know 
What  'tis  to  live  with  ingomar,  thy  foe. 
In  vain  Massilia's  legions  shall  surround  thee— 
In  the  market,  amidst  thy  traffic,  in  thy  home, 


INGOMAR. 


63 


Thy  bed.  in  the  dark  midnight,  there  shall  still 
Iugomar's  eye  glare  on  thee  :  thou  shalt  find 
Thyself  with  Ingomar  alone  ! 

Pol.  Help  !  mercy  ! 

I  will  consent — I  (Aside  )    Oh,  the  whip,  the  chain 

Shall  make  him  pay  for  this ! 

Ing.  Give  me  those  papers.  [Snatching  them. 

Now,  Myron,  thou  art  free  !  All,  all  are  free 

Par.  Oh,  misery  ! 

[  Throwing  herself  into  the  arms  of  Ingomzr. 

Ing.  And  now.  old  man,  although  unwillingly 
Thou  hast  kept  thy  word,  yet  will  I  freely  mine. 
I  will  work  for  thee,  truly,  diligently, 
And,  weep  not — cling  not  to  me  thus,  Parthenia  ; — 
Of  all  the  joys  with  which  thou  hast  cheered  my  soul. 
This  is  the  purest,  holiest.    The  slavery 
That  giyes  thee  freedom,  brings  along  with  it 
So  rich  a  treasure  of  consoling  joy, 
Liberty  shall  be  poor  and  worthless  by  its  side. 

Pol.  I'll  put  thee  to  the  proof — come,  slave  !    Ah,  help  ! 
What  do  I  see  ?  the  enemy  !  the  barbarians  !  [Shouts  from  r. 
Treachery  !  the  city's  taken  !    Oh,  my  gold  ! 

Ing.  (Looking  of,  r.)  Peace,  fool !  do  you  not  see  thej 
bear  green  boughs? 
They  come  in  peace — they  are  ambassadors. 

Enter  Timarch  with  attendants  ;  ivith  him  Alastor,  Novio, 
and  several  of  the  Alemanni  bearing  green  houghs. 

Tim.  Behold  the  man  you  seek ! 

Alas.  Ingomar! 

[Ingomar  rushes  to  them  and  greets  them. 

Ing.  Novio  !  why  come  you  here  ? 

Alas.  We  heard  a  rumor 
One  of  our  people  was  a  prisoner 
Within  these  walls ;  and  paused,  upon  our  way 
Against  the  Allobrogi,  to  ask  its  truth. 

Tim.  He  is  free  as  yourselves. 

Alas.  Silence,  and  let  him  speak.    Ingomar,  speak 
If  thou*  the  pride  an  i  glory  of  our  race, 
Art  here  under  restraint,  though  but  the  lightest, 
We  have  a  force  without  shall  quickly  level 
These  vile  walls  with  the  dust,  and  bear  thee  off 


64 


INGOMAR. 


In  triumph  from  them.    Say,  then,  art  thou  free? 

Ing.  {Calmly.)  No. 
Tim.  No! 

Alas.  What  art  thou.,  then  1 
Ing.  (  With  a  smile. )  A  slave. 

Alas.  Pass  round  the  sword  without ! — to  the  attack  I— 
Down  with  the  walls  ! 

Ing.  Hold  !  and  let  no  man  stir. 
How  !  think  you  Ingomar  would  live  a  slave 
But  by  his  own  submission? 

Alas.  Where's  the  chief,  then, 
The  mighty  warrior  who  has  vanquished  thee  ? 
[  burn  to  look  on  him. 

Ing.  [Pointing  to  Polydor,  who  has  crept  into  a  corner. 
Behold  him,  there  ! 

Alas.  Ah,  he  !     [Flourishes  his  axe,  standing  over  him. 

Pol.  Help  !  mercy  !  help  ! 

Tim.       I  Who  has  been  talking  with  Myron,  advances* 
Oh  !  noble,  matchless  man. 
Take  back  thy  liberty — my  word  confers  it. 

Ing,  Not  so — 
My  honor  pledged  me  yonder  creature's  slave 
For  a  condition  :  he  has  granted  that : 
My  faith  is  pledged,  and  must  be  kept :  who  would 
That  Ingomar  were  free,  must  pay  his  ransom. 

Tim.  That  be  my  privilege.    (To  his  attendants.)  I>ia. 
charge  this  ransom. 
Be  justice  done — but  not  imperfectly — 
More  justice  rests  behind.    When  he  is  paid, 
See  he  collects  his  wealth,  all  that  he  owns  ; 
Then  drive  him  forth  beyond  the  city  walls— 
Massilia's  shame  and  scorn. 

Pol.  Mercy,  great  Timarch  ! 
The  barbarians  arc  without — they'll  plunder  me  ! 

Tim  See  thou  to  that — away  with  him ! 

Noble  Ingomar,  [Poly dor  is  driven  OtU. 

If  such  as  thou  the  Alemanni  breed, 
They  must  be  made  Massilia's  friends,  allies, 
At  any  honorable  price. 
A  few  hours  back  we  offered  thee  a  house, 
Lands,  and  this  maid  for  wife. 


INGOMAR. 


65 


Alas.  The  Greek  girl !  then 
He  is  lost  to  us.    Farewell — peace  to  Massilia  ! 

Tim  W e  must  have  more  than  peace— fellowship,  friendship. 
Let  us  be  brothers— land  shall  be  assigned  you 
To  found  a  city  near  us,  of  which  city 
We  name  thee,  Ingomar,  the  Timarch. 

[  They  shout  '  Peace  V  '  Massilia  V  and  :  Ingomar  P 

Myr.  There,  wife  !  dost  hear?  our  son  in-law  a  Timaich  I 
Who  is  right  now  ?    How,  Ingomar,  not  a  word  'I 

Ing.  Oh,  hush !  my  swelling  heart  has  only  room 
For  one  thought,  for  one  word — Parthenia,  mine, 
For  ever  mine  !  (Embracing  her.')    To  love  I  owe  this  bliss 

Par.  To  love  and  honor. 

big.  Ah!  now,  indeed,  for  ever  we  are  joined — 

'  Two  souls  with  but  a  single  thought, 
Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one.' 

DISPOSITION  OF  THE  CHARACTERS. 


MASSEY'S 

EXHIBITION  RECITER  | 

DRAV/ING-RGOM  ^ENTERTAINMENTS, 

Being  choice  recitations  in  prose  and  verse,  together  with  an  unique 
collection  of 

PETITE  COMEDIES,  DRAMAS  AND  FARCES, 
ADAPTED  FOR.  THE  USE  OF  SCHOOLS  AND  FAMILIES, 
BY  CIIAKLES  MASSEY, 

Professor  of  Elocution  at  Burlington  College,  N.  J.,  and  Mechanics' 
Society  School,  N.  Y. 
;  No.  1  Contains,  No.  2  Contains, 

Guy  Fawkes,  an    Historical  Drama."        Lovo  and  Jealousy,  '-Tragedy." 
Tlie  Man  Wiih  the  Carpet  Bag,  "Farce."  The  Irish  Tutor,  *•  Farce." 
White  Horse  of  the   Peppsrs,  "  Comic  Bouibastes  Fnrioso,  '*  burlesque  Opera." 

Drama."  Sylvester  Daggenvood,  "  Cumic  Inter- 

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